


So Melt Me Down

by behindthec



Category: Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman, Wicked RPF
Genre: Canon Timeline, F/F, RPF, chenzel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindthec/pseuds/behindthec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She's sure there's a boundary line drawn somewhere in the sand, but she tries to stay far enough behind it that it never comes looming into view.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for coming a decade late to the fandom (if it counts, I wrote _Rent_ fic in 2002). What was meant to be a 3k-word collection of snapshots has morphed into a 27k monstrosity of sexy, sexy angst. I regret nothing.
> 
> Thanks to my husband/beta/cheerleader for supporting this ridiculous endeavor and for rekindling my long-lost Broadway love by putting a video of “Defying Gravity” in front of me and saying, “Watch this.”

 

 

 

 

_Someday when I’m over you_  
 _And when I think I’m able to  
_ _Well, I might try to be your friend again_

 

 -

 

**_2014_ **

 

She's watching porn when Kristin calls.   
  
It's not on _purpose_ ; she got tired of fighting the TV remote in her room and finally just smashed the buttons to see what would happen, and porn happened. It's not even good porn, but hell, she already paid for it. 

She pulls the blankets around her and takes another bite of Rice Krispies, rolls her eyes at the guy's meticulously shaved ass, and tucks her feet underneath her. She’s been over L.A. since she got here. She's ready to get back to 46th Street for previews. Back to the people who make her forget. Back to Anthony, who will let her rest her head on his shoulder and not say a word. 

Her phone goes off for the hundredth time since she left the Dolby and she’s ready to flush it, but when Kristin's name illuminates the screen, she skips a breath.

"Hello?"

"Miss Dazeem, you were _gorgeous._ "

"Shut your face, my song won an Oscar." 

"I know. It was perfect. You were perfect." 

Her lips spread into a grin. "I tried to find you."

"I tried to find _you,_ young lady _._ I figured you got whisked off to a party."

"I did. I thought you'd be there and you weren't so I went back to the hotel and ordered Rice Krispies from room service because you stood me up." 

Kristin giggles lazily. Picking up where they left off is a skill they've carefully honed, even if sometimes Idina wishes they could pick up a little earlier than that. It's been long enough that they can flirt again, not too much but a little. She's sure there's a boundary line drawn somewhere in the sand, but she tries to stay far enough behind it that it never comes looming into view. 

"Where ya stayin'?" Kristin asks. 

"I don't know. I don't even remember the name of my hotel. I feel so fuzzy." 

"Check the stationery, sugar." 

Idina leans over with annoyed, labored noises, reaching for the pad of paper on the nightstand. "Um... the Westin... Bonaventure."

"Yeesh, please don't ever try to speak French again." 

"Bite me. Is it close to you? Are you -- " She weighs the full question for a moment, considering the implications, and crafts her voice into something resembling casual. "Are you home?" 

"I'm getting in my car."

"Where's Dana?" 

"Oh, I left him at a party. He's fine."

"You're so mean." 

"What, I was tired and he had schmoozing to do. It's not like we live together."

"It's like two in the morning, where are you going?" 

"Are you alone?"

_Christ._ "Yeah." 

"I'm picking you up."

This isn't how it happens. Kristin's not the one who --

It only takes a second to connect the dots.

Taye moved out three months ago.

 

-

 

Kristin picks her up thirty minutes minutes later wearing a Mets cap and pajamas. Idina recognizes the pale yellow top when she slides into the passenger seat. She doesn't remember Kristin wearing it, but she does remember it lying on her bedroom floor. Crushed in her hands. Wadded up under her pillow, still smelling like D&G’s Light Blue. 

They should probably hug, or something, but Kristin just smiles at her, hands on the wheel. 

"I just realized I didn't actually ask if you wanted me to pick you up."

Idina smiles back. "Hi."

 

+++

 

**_2001_ **

 

When she meets Kristin, Idina's just made and accepted a personal challenge to fit an entire avocado sandwich half in her mouth while balancing _Goblet of Fire_ with her spare hand. The day-long callback is murder, and breaking for lunch only gives her more time to focus on nerves. Reading takes the edge off, but she knows Chenoweth is showing up at some point in the afternoon, she knows she wasn't the first choice for this, and if Kristin doesn't like her, it's over. No fucking pressure. 

As Harry swoops down to collect the golden egg, Kristin walks into the small room outside the studio with her hair soft around her shoulders. Idina barely recognizes her with just a bare trace of makeup, but Kristin’s eyes still pop like fireworks. She's the smallest adult human Idina’s ever seen, she’s exceptionally pretty, she’s wearing tiny white jeans and a tiny pink top, _Jesus Christ she's so tiny_ , and Idina has sprouts protruding from her lips. 

Kristin bites her lip against a smile and says, "I should come back."

_No!_ comes out "NRPH" and Idina holds up a finger as she darts out of the room to wash her hands and chug a bottle of water. When she comes back, Kristin's in Idina's chair, reading her book, snacking on her chips, feet propped on the table. 

She looks up from the page and grins. "This one's my favorite so far." 

Just like that, she's nestled her way into Idina's life and they haven't yet made it to introductions. 

Idina smiles and says, "Mine too." 

"I know we met before at that thing but it was for like three seconds and I think I was drunk so let's just start over instead of pretending we remember.” 

“So you weren’t the one at the table in the corner who choked on an Irish Car Bomb?”

Kristin buries her face in her hands. “No, that was me. Thanks, darlin’.” 

Idina laughs. 

“You’re awful at this!” Kristin climbs out of the chair and tries to look affronted. “We’re supposed to say what we’ve seen of each other’s work and how fabulous it was and how marvelous it would be to work together, all that crap.” 

“You’ve seen my shows?”

“You’re even prettier up close.” 

Kristin spares her from crafting a reaction, making her way across the room and throwing her arms around Idina, who tries to hug back as gently as she can, lest the tiny frame break into pieces. 

(She doesn't hug her like that anymore. She soon learned that Kristin doesn't break. Not on the outside, at least.) 

Kristin pulls back, offering her hand, and beams up at her. "I'm Kristin." 

Idina gives her hand a firm shake. "I'm Idina." 

" _Idina_. You have the most beautiful name." She takes a deep breath. "Go knock 'em dead."

 

+++

 

**_2002_ **

 

Working with Kristin is like playing chess against the computer. You can't win, so you might as well just enjoy the game.

Idina’s not that kind of competitive, anyway, and besides, for all the challenges Kristin throws her way, she’s also gracious and generous and patient -- usually (and beautiful and funny, not that it matters). Perfectionist tendencies, yes. A well-cultivated ego, oh yes. And she’s a bit of a spotlight hog, at least when it comes to everyone else, but with Idina, she steps aside. With Idina, the ego melts. And in all the energy she's got, a certain part of it seems directly wired to whatever Idina gives her, so Idina learns fast that the more she gives, the brighter the twinkle in Kristin's eye; the more melting her smile; the more inspiring her performance. Idina finds herself reaching inward just to see what else she can bring forth, but there doesn't seem to be any threshold, any boundary to Kristin's passion. Kristin is... unlimited. 

Idina's always worked with limits -- mostly to break them, but she's got to know what they are before she can. Kristin must have her own somewhere, in some other version of herself, off the stage and safely in the shadows. Limits that no one else gets to see -- shyness or fear or heartache or regret. 

Idina watches her and can't help thinking, _Show me._

 

+++

 

Evolving from bar mitzvahs to Broadway took work, lots of it, and Idina's meticulous in her process. She's precise, organized, methodical... and Kristin... 

Kristin, demonstrably none of those things, declares a compromise and decides the best way to get everyone off-book is Strip Rehearsal, which is precisely what it sounds (Idina's not sure where the "compromise" bit comes in, exactly). Stumble over your line and it'll cost you a sock; forget it entirely and Kristin starts to collect a hefty pile of underthings by her chair, because she doesn't forget lines, not ever. It's grossly unfair and everyone knows it, but for some reason no one's complained. 

Idina chugs a tepid cup of Starbucks and tosses her hoodie into the pile, down to her bra and jeans. "You know, Miss Cheno, there are easier ways to get me naked." 

Kristin raises an eyebrow, a corner of her mouth quirking. "I prefer a challenge."

 

+++

 

It’s not all games. It’s work, it’s hard, it aches and stresses and Idina lives in constant paranoia of being fired. The fear breeds inconsistency and self-doubt, and it doesn’t seem to be something Kristin’s used to working with. Joe fights with Idina on skill; with Kristin on matters of control. Idina would rather be fighting for control than proving herself, but it’s just not an option. Kristin fights with her and for her in equal measures, and as much as it sends Idina’s confidence into a polarized frenzy, she can never bring herself to see Kristin as truly unreasonable. In the end, they’re all just trying to make it the best damn show it can be. In the end, she’s hitting notes she wasn’t in the beginning, she’s brought a host of new dimensions to her character, their chemistry is showstopping, and it doesn’t matter who deserves the credit or how they pulled it off. What matters is it happens. 

Kristin manages to leave work at work. Idina never could, but she adores Kristin even in the hurricanes of conflict, so at the end of the day, the slate’s wiped clean. Outside of work, Kristin's crafted herself into a study, and Idina half wishes she came with a guide book. A little Kristin-themed Grimmerie, maybe. But in a way, the surprises are better. 

Kristin plays a mean game of flag football, will crack every bone in her body on demand, can _unnaturally_ beat Idina at arm-wrestling ("Must be hurling all those giant sacks of grain… that's what you do for fun in Oklahoma, right?"), and snacks on habaneros like they're potato chips. She’s sharp, quick and magnificently smart, knowing just how and when to hide it to her advantage. It's a challenge to reconcile it all with the pink platforms and little white dog. Idina tells her she's Elle Woods meets The Rock, and Kristin seems pleased. 

Idina can't get cocky, though. For every layer she breaks down, there’s at least two more waiting underneath. She doesn't know what toothpaste Kristin uses or how many times she brushes her hair before bed every night. She doesn't know what a terrifyingly horrible driver Kristin is, or that she is uncommonly kind to restaurant servers. She doesn't know how Kristin sings Puccini in the shower on Sunday mornings before church, or how she fiddles with the cross around her neck whenever the preacher talks about sin. She doesn't know what Kristin tastes like, or how she giggles through kisses, or how green her eyes get when she comes. She doesn't know how Kristin tries to be the big spoon and fails miserably. She doesn't know the litany of obscenities that can spill from her lips under the right lights and the right sheets -- with the right person, that is. 

She doesn't know any of it. 

Not yet.

 

+++

 

(If it all came down to one moment -- one white-hot fork in their yellow brick road that ignited it all -- )

The first time she sings it with proper accompaniment in a proper rehearsal, it's terrifying. All she can focus on is the looming E flat and a nightmare audition.

She opens her eyes halfway through to see Kristin leaning against the piano, hand over her heart, smiling like she's watching something magical unfold. 

The moment it's over, Kristin crosses the room and wraps her arms around her, face nestled in the crook of Idina's neck. 

"My Elphie," she says against bare skin, rocking them both side to side. "Mine." 

(-- it would be this.)

 

+++

 

**_2003_ **

 

They kick off tryouts in San Francisco, and they're -- fuck it, they're flying high. 

It’s all a blur, from Kristin leaping into her arms before the curtain brushes the floor, to the frenzied hum of the after-party, carefully sipping wine with the press and forcing herself to say intelligent things. She remembers Kristin winking at her from across the room before turning back to a reporter, but little else. It's not until the _after_ -after party that she can breathe, when the fifteen of them left who haven't passed out manage to convene in someone’s apartment in a quiet nest of the city. An uncountable number of drinks (all green) make their way around the room, and Idina starts to lose track, fuzzing around the edges and warming all over. 

They lose Norbert and a couple others during a movie, but Kristin stays scrunched up next to her in a corner of the sofa, the two of them huddled under a blanket as others crawl over the sleeping figures to join them. They're forced to adjust each time someone else sits, resulting in a sandwich effect that leaves Kristin practically on top of her, Idina's hand resting halfway on Kristin's hip and halfway on her ass. It’s not an altogether unpleasant arrangement. They’ve fallen asleep on each other during rehearsal breaks, and there’s nothing different about the press of Kristin’s body against hers now except a hot, tingly hum running over her skin that may or may not have anything to do with the drink. 

"Another?" someone offers, lowering a tray of radioactive jello shots in front of them. 

"Thanks, but I'm good," Idina says. 

Kristin takes two, holding one out with a smirk. "Want to be better?" 

The rush kicks in fast as Idina tosses the shot down her throat with her free hand, sending fire to the pit of her belly. Whoever they have on absinthe duty is feeling generous.

Kristin watches her carefully before tipping her head back, slowly, lifting the shot to her lips, her eyes on Idina's as she swallows. She settles back against her closer than before, one hand resting over Idina's knee as she turns to the movie, but Idina's forgotten what they're watching. She finds she's forgotten a lot of things, nearly everything but the electric pressure of Kristin's body against hers. 

Idina's not drunk, not really, just -- elsewhere. Somewhere in a world where it makes sense for her fingers to tighten just slightly around the soft handful of Kristin beneath her palm. Firm enough that no one could mistake it for an accident, and deliberate enough that it doesn't feel like a joke. _Rent_ conditioned her for years of liberal female affection, and she's taken it freely as needed ever since -- but this -- this doesn't feel like any of the times she's slapped Michelle's ass backstage, or crept up behind her stylist and nibbled her ear just to get a reaction.

Kristin doesn't move, but when Idina looks over, Kristin's not looking at the TV. Doesn't seem to be breathing, either. There's still a pulse thrumming away somewhere between them, but Idina's not sure whose. 

"This movie suuucks," yells someone from across the room, and the conversations around them lull. "We need music!" 

" _You_ suck!" Idina counters stupidly, leaping on the opportunity to disentangle herself and crawl off the couch, carefully avoiding Kristin's eye. It was a flash, an instant -- it can be overridden. "I'm on it." 

She leans over the stereo, taking plenty of time to work the buttons until a world-famous chord blares over the sound system. A few people cheer, a few are pulled to their feet, whisked into sloppy, drunken slow dancing. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Kristin sit straight up on the sofa, suddenly alert, and tries to focus on the music. 

_I never meant to cause you any sorrow..._  

She looks up from the floor in front of the stereo. Kristin glances at the others dancing and grins at her, leaning forward.

Idina shakes her head, betrayed by her own smile. "No. You can't make me." 

“Please? I sang it at the talent show in seventh grade, it's my _favorite_. I'll let you lead," she adds coyly, swaying playfully to the beat. 

"Please. This movie wasn't even out till eighty-four. I've seen your driver's license."

"Fine, senior year! Dance with me."

"Damn right you'll let me lead," she sighs, taking Kristin's hand. 

She expects a few moments of shuffling to block their positions, but their bodies seem to have gotten a head start. Her hands fall automatically to Kristin's waist, careful not to dip any lower, as Kristin's arms drape over Idina's shoulders, tugging her closer until their cheeks touch, lips at each other's ears. As their hips begin to sway, feet scarcely leaving the floor, Idina closes her eyes.

"Sorry for molesting you earlier," she whispers over the music.

"Why?" 

"I -- I don't think I realized I was doing it." 

"I meant why are you sorry?"

Idina's tongue catches in her throat, and the band plays on. 

Slowly, Kristin shifts until her head's pressed to Idina's chest, her lips forming the lyrics against bare skin. Idina feels her heartbeat soar from an irregular flutter to a thunderous drumline -- there's no way on earth Kristin can't feel it, but whether they're still on earth at all is up in the air.

Kristin curls a hand around the back of Idina's neck where Idina's certain every last hair is standing on end, and Idina gives the fuck up. Her fingers tighten around Kristin's waist, pulling her closer until their bodies are flush. She can feel Kristin breathing, can feel her heart beating through her chest, and thinks, _You started this_. Whether she's talking to herself or Kristin, she'll never know.

The fading chords and a few scattered claps shake them awake, their bodies parting. 

"Get a room," Norbert smirks at them, suddenly awake and sprawled against the legs of the baby grand in the corner. "Kristin should play for us." 

Kristin sticks her tongue out at him, stepping back and shaking her head, but it's too late. Echoes of "Just one song!" and "It's been ages!" are bouncing off the walls. 

"Yeah, go on," Idina mimics, poking her in the side. "Just one song." 

Kristin glares fondly at her until Idina breaks out the puppy-eyed pout. 

"You're singing." 

Satisfied, Idina grins and pulls up a barstool, planting it next to the piano as Kristin settles herself on the bench to a chorus of cheers and hoots. Kristin doesn't play often; she doesn't like to upstage their pianist, and the show drains enough musical energy from her on its own. Idina can only recall a handful of evenings huddled with her at the keys, hashing out grueling harmonies after everyone else had given up on the day. She remembers her side pressed against Kristin's on the studio's narrow piano bench as Kristin improvised melodies to support the entwined echoes of their voices in the empty room. 

Ever the performer, Kristin takes a deep breath, scans the room, and smiles. Her audience is rapt. Norbert hoots. 

"I'm not sure I can top ‘Purple Rain,’" she admits. "But there's another song it reminds me of. To me, they both seem like similar situations that… that took a different direction." 

Head lowered and eyes closed, her fingers drop to the keys, coaxing forth Journey’s intro. Idina could sing “[Faithfully](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRITkp2Ib1c)” backwards in her sleep, but now, watching Kristin lose herself in the caress of white and black, she’s not even sure she’ll remember the first line. 

On cue, her brain steps in, taking over and supplying the words. Kristin smiles at the keys. 

Idina tries to face the room, tries to remember the thirteen other people hanging on her every word -- but at _I’m forever yours_ , Kristin’s eyes lift to meet hers, and Idina realizes she’s been singing to her the whole goddamn time. 

It's a performance. This is her life, her expertise -- hell, she sings to Kristin every day, for hours. You'd think they'd both be sick of it by now. She lets it happen, lets her voice and her body do what they were born to do -- but now it’s like watching herself from the wings of the stage, knowing she should stop but too far away to make it happen. 

She expects Kristin to jump in for harmony near the end, but Kristin seems to have retreated into her own world, watching Idina with slightly parted lips as her hands sweep across the instrument on autopilot. Neither looks away, not until the last chord fades and their showmates are applauding heartily. Breaking from Kristin's gaze still fixated on her, Idina turns to the room and smiles, taking a sheepish bow from her seat that draws another round of cheers. 

No one noticed. No one felt it. It could just as easily not have happened at all. She starts to convince herself it's precisely that simple as people begin shuffling around, settling back on the sofa or heading to the kitchen for more rounds. She watches Kristin unfold her jacket from the back of a chair and pull it over her shoulders. 

"I think it's time for this diva to retire," she announces to the room at large, meeting with mixed farewells. She turns to face Idina, hands stuffed into her pockets. "Care to escort a lady back to her hotel?" 

The cabbie is unobtrusive, leaving them in silence. A ten-minute ride is suddenly, excruciatingly interminable. 

She not sure how it happens, but monumentally sure that it does. Their hands resting on the seat between them happen to brush together, just a feathered touch of skin on skin, so easily remedied if one of them would only pull away. Instead, Kristin extends her pinkie finger in slow motion, curling it around Idina's and locking their bodies in the smallest, gentlest embrace. But Kristin's so innately affectionate that it's impossible to break down the anatomy of a single touch. Maybe that's why her affection is offered so freely -- so it's impossible to tell when it's more. A safety net of generous touches, pecks on the cheek, tiny bear hugs and leaps onto the backs of unsuspecting victims. 

The perfect cover. 

Idina lets her finger move half an inch, stroking lightly, just once. Nothing more, nothing less than acceptance. She's not even sure what she's accepting, but that doesn't scare her. 

What scares her is that the answer is yes.

 

-

 

The elevator ride is silent until the _ping_ of the 14th floor. Kristin steps out, and Idina steps out, and Kristin stops. 

Idina's brain jolts awake. This isn't her floor. 

Kristin smiles, sliding a key card from her purse. "You inviting yourself in?" 

"Not if you invite me first." 

Kristin laughs it off, turning to her door and heaving it open. Idina follows her inside, leaving her shoes at the door and lingering awkwardly in the middle of the room, a few feet from the bed. It's dark inside save for the twinkle of city lights sprinkling in through floor-to-ceiling glass. The room smells like Kristin's shampoo and perfume and from the looks of uneven shapes scattered around the dark, it's a hot holy mess. She loves it. 

Placing her purse on a table by the window, Kristin kicks off her shoes and turns to face her, looking even smaller than usual without the extra three inches. She’s backlit by the city so Idina can’t really make out her face, but the light shines over those blonde waves like a halo. 

_Get the moonlight outta your hair_ , Idina remembers suddenly, smiling to herself.

Slowly, Kristin shrugs off her jacket until it slinks to the floor. Idina can feel Kristin’s eyes on her, even if she can’t see it. She hears Kristin draw in an uneven breath that catches in her throat. The room has become impossibly small, and oxygen, nonexistent. 

"Do you want to talk?" 

Idina shakes her head. "No." 

She starts counting seconds then -- _one, two... five..._ a freeze frame in a world they've built just to stop time.

_Ten._

It's over. Kristin lunges forward, leaping into her arms, and there's so much to feel that she doesn't know where to start. Instinct reacts quick enough to hold Kristin in place, hands sliding underneath her for support, but the brain has other priorities -- namely, Kristin's mouth, how it tastes of absinthe and raspberries, how very warm it is, how pliant her lips are and how she whimpers when Idina parts them with her tongue -- the press of slender legs wrapped like vices around her waist, nails digging into her back, and the way Kristin smells like magic.

...To name a few.

Idina manages to get them to the edge of the bed, somehow. She tries to be smooth and lower them down slowly, but gravity wins. Kristin bounces flat back onto the mattress and Idina lands on top of her, hip to hip and arms over their heads. Kristin's giggling already, and Idina takes advantage of the position to clasp both of Kristin's wrists in one hand, pressing down gently, and bracing herself with the other.

"Sorry," she pleads, burying her face in Kristin's neck. "I've never carried someone to bed. Are you okay?" 

Kristin nods, still giggling and breathless. "I'm sorry I jumped you."

"You are not."

"I'm not." 

They look at each other, panting. Kristin's eyes are alive and wild, her smile infallible. She feels impossibly small and feverish trapped beneath Idina's weight, and it feels… new. Idina's tackled girls before, but for kicks, and in public, and they were never grinding their hips up into hers quite like Kristin's doing now.

" _Jesus_ ," Idina breathes, closing her eyes. 

Kristin nuzzles close. She wrestles one of her hands free, allowing the other to stay pinned, and brings it up to tangle loosely in Idina's hair. "We can stop, sweetie." 

"Do you want to stop?"

Kristen stares at her, all traces of laughter fading. Something else crosses her face, her body tensing.

"Kris. What do you want?" 

Kristin looks her dead in the eye and says, "I want to make you come all night." 

...Okay then.

"You _asked_!" Kristin shrieks, reaching for a pillow and swatting the back of Idina's head, making her realize she's been silent and gawking for a good five seconds.

"No, no! I'm not -- I'm just -- you -- how long have you wanted that?"

"Too damn long to lie here and wax poetic about it." 

Idina smiles down at her. "You're so fucking beautiful." 

A bit shyly, Kristin smiles back and starts to pull her down for a kiss before stopping herself. "Hold up, you gotta tell me what _you_ want." 

_This, you, skin, naked, touch,_ doesn't really seem to cover it, so she says, "Everything."

Kristin grins mischievously. "You got it." 

She lets Idina kiss her again, finally, responding with an enthusiasm that Idina hasn't felt anything close to since high school. It's both bizarre and exhilarating how alive she feels, and how stupidly inexperienced. Kristin's legs spread open, letting Idina nestle her hips between them, sliding her hands over whatever she can reach, torn between the desire to draw this out and the far more pressing impulse to take everything all at once. 

It’s strange without a raging hard-on getting in the way -- and strangely enticing, the thought of seeking something out instead. With that goal firmly in mind, she hooks her fingers under Kristin's dress and starts pushing the fabric up, up... until Kristin finally shoves her off enough to sit up, yank the dress over her head, and get to work on the rest of their clothes. She's so quick and efficient Idina could swear she rehearsed it, and starts giggling despite the newly uncovered expanse of golden, glowing skin at her disposal. 

"Mm... what _?_ " Kristin mumbles, having eased Idina onto her back and made her way on top as she drops a flurry of kisses down Idina's chest. 

"No one's ever gotten my bra off that fast." 

She assumes it would be obvious why, but Kristin stops, looking at her quizzically. 

"I've never been with a woman before." 

"Really?" Kristin's eyes widen excitedly. "Oh, bless your heart!" 

"Shut _up_! Have you?!" 

"Uh, yeah... what were _you_ doing in college?" 

"Oh my god!" Idina shrieks, scandalized, propping herself up on her elbows. "I was _studying_! Performing!"

Kristin grins wickedly. "So was I."

"Oh my _god_!"

Kristin just cackles, taking advantage of Idina's shock to pin her down. "You'll thank me later." 

"No, I'm topping," Idina protests, wriggling free. 

"Why?" 

"Cause I'm bigger." 

"Fine, have at it." Kristin goes limp, allowing herself to be maneuvered around to Idina's satisfaction (which is, in its own right, overwhelmingly hot). "But yooou don't know what you're doooing," she sing-songs, her fingers tickling goosebumps down Idina's bare sides. 

Idina grabs both of Kristin's wrists, pins them back overhead where they belong, and Kristin's instantly silent. Her piercing eyes are a blatant challenge, her swollen lips an invitation. No one's ever looked at Idina like that before, with that unadulterated _ferocity_. She knows Kristin has her right where she wants her -- out of her mind, all worked up and demanding control. Idina knows fully well Kristin's strong enough to flip her over, pin her down, tie her up, have her way with her however she pleases. But she doesn't. She's surrendering. 

Idina looks down at her, breathless. "I'll learn."

 

-

 

Side by side and nose to nose, bare limbs entwined, they listen to the city crawling its way out of sleep. 

Outside the window, dawn creeps in, casting a soft gray light over Kristin's face. Her eyes are half closed, a sleepy smile playing on her lips. Her makeup is a disaster and her hair looks like it got caught in a vacuum. 

"You're perfect," Idina tells her. 

"Mm... y _ou're_ perfect." 

"...So we're perfect togeth--"

"Ugh, shut up," Kristin mumbles through a smile, pulling her forward so Idina's face is buried in Kristin's breasts. The quote sends a ridiculous image into Idina’s fading consciousness as she nestles closer.

“Picture Norbert’s face walking in on us right now.” 

She feels Kristin’s whole body laugh before she hears it, building until she’s certain they’ve woken half the 14th floor. Idina smiles into the baby-soft skin, seeking out a heartbeat. She's going to fall asleep like this, to hell with the rest of the day. 

Kristin yawns, holding her tighter. "Stay." 

She stays.

 

-

 

Idina looks around the room. It's not morning. The curtains are drawn halfway, shading her sensitive eyes from the bright afternoon sun. The sheets smell like Kristin, but Kristin's not here. 

"Oh darn it, I didn't want you to wake up alone," Kristin huffs, rounding the corner from the bathroom and carrying two steaming white mugs. She's wearing a spaghetti strap top that leaves nothing to the imagination, bright blue panties, and precious little else. Her hair's still a wreck, but she's pulled it back into a messy ponytail and washed her face. "I did it in the bathroom so I wouldn't wake you. I ordered room service too but it'll be awhile." 

She sets the mugs on the bedside table and settles herself on the mattress as Idina sits up, reaching for Kristin’s hands. 

"You're so sweet. You didn't have to do any of that." 

Kristin shrugs, smiling, and hands her a mug. Idina doesn't ever remember telling her how she takes her coffee, but here it is, like magic. She sets it back down after a few sips, shivering as the glorious caffeinated warmth makes its way through her bloodstream. She finds herself leaning in until their lips meet, gently but with purpose, lazily moving together until Kristin tangles a hand in Idina's crazy morning hair and deepens the kiss. It never occurred to Idina whether this was okay to do -- whether they’re supposed to hitch a one-way trip to denial or not. But it's Kristin -- just Kristin, who laughs and sings and dances and bickers with her every day. She doesn't know what they are or what happens when they leave this room, but the thought of not kissing her right here and now never felt like an option.

They separate, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

Kristin takes a breath, brushing their noses together. "Should we talk?" 

"You first."

She pulls back, sitting up straight, and smoothes down the front of her shirt. "You're married." 

Idina lowers her eyes. 

"Are you going to tell him?" 

"I don't know." 

"Okay." 

"I don't... I don't want to get up and get dressed and never touch you again and pretend this never happened." 

Kristin watches her carefully. "What do you want, then?"

Idina sighs, restless and frustrated. She doesn't know what she wants. She knows she wants what’s under Kristin’s tank top but beyond that, everything is fuzzy. 

"I want… I _want_... " 

And they're kissing again -- not lazy morning kisses, but wild midnight kisses, falling back into their nest of tangled sheets with desperate hands climbing up the back of Kristin's shirt, agile fingers brushing over taut nipples, mouths biting and sucking anything they can reach. 

"Maybe we don't talk about it," Idina gasps as Kristin's hand slips between her legs, and they don't.

 

+++

 

Sex with a woman is pretty much what Idina always imagined it would be. 

Sex with _Kristin_ is like skydiving into a fireworks display. At least, that's what her mush brain tells her after the fourth time this week -- and it's Tuesday.

It takes Idina roughly two nights to discover that Kristin is addicted to being mercilessly teased, which leads to more than a few missed wake-up calls.

It takes roughly two minutes to discover that Kristin also carries a linguistic repertoire of utter filth, spilling the most beautifully shocking poetry into Idina’s ear whenever she wants to up the ante. The low, rough-edged tone unfitting of her normal voice; the “ _I want to…_ ” with as many endings as you can imagine -- it’s not long before a single word is all it takes.

Kristin also possess uncanny mind-body control, which means she can come on command if you learn how to get into her head. 

Idina learns.

When Kristin discovers that she can make Idina come as many times as she wants in a single night, they start setting two alarms. Right after Kristin stares at her with a slack jaw and a dazed look and says, "Honey, you better clear your schedule." 

Kristin is extraordinarily comfortable in her own skin in a way Idina could only ever dream to be, but without the unfounded overconfidence of a man. For one, her confidence is one hundred percent founded, prompting questions like _Precisely how many women in college, seriously?_ to which she merely grins. Idina can still see that Kristin from the stage, from the red carpet, from interviews -- giggling and theatrical and always performing -- but there's a different Kristin too, when they're alone -- a deeper one. She won’t call it the “real” one because they’re all parts of the sum, but it’s realer to Idina. It’s both reckless and focused, vulnerable and breathtakingly raw. 

Kristin infuses opening night enthusiasm into every kiss, every stroke, every flick of her tongue, every whim Idina dares to propose. She is all at once light and dark, playful and deadly serious, ready to take control as much as give it up. Every touch is backed by purpose; every reaction by focus, rapt and undivided. She transforms _I want you_ into _I want to experience you._ It's like no encounter, no partnership Idina's ever known. For all the heat, the friction and the sounds, Kristin can just as easily spend thirty minutes in silence with their eyes locked, trailing fingertips over each other’s skin -- and, god, those eyes -- the way Kristin looks at her like she's more than wanted -- more than needed, even.

Kristin looks at her like she's sacred. And when Idina looks back, she doesn't feel lost in Kristin's eyes. She feels found.

"Try not to fall in love with me," Kristin jokes, fitting her head against the smooth slope between hipbones, in response to a sequence of uncultured expletives after the seventh (eighth?) time she brings Idina over the edge.

Breathless, Idina smiles, slowly unclenching her fingers from the sheets to card through Kristin's hair. She says, "I think I'm in love with your mouth," but it ends differently in her head.

 

+++

 

Near the end of San Francisco, Idina admits she misses home. Kristin rolls over in the dark onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. Idina lets her eyes wander over the slope over Kristin's bare back, softly cast aglow by a streetlamp outside the window; the way the lower curve of her spine disappears beneath the sheet. She runs her fingers through a few strands of Kristin's hair and Kristin leans into it, nuzzling Idina's palm. She reaches up to trace a finger over Idina's shoulder, across the freckled skin of her chest. As much as Idina misses home, she's going to miss this more. 

"What do you miss?" Kristin asks. 

"The bagel place in the alley by Shubert. The birds in the park who eat out of your hand. The asshole dry cleaner who's too good at his job for me to find someone else." 

Kristin smiles, dropping a sweet kiss to Idina's forehead. 

"Do you miss Oklahoma?" 

"Yeah. New York too, but... it's not the same. I miss my family a lot. I miss my bike. I ride it everywhere when I visit." 

Idina snorts. "You can still fit on your childhood bike?"

Kristin raises an eyebrow. "I'll tickle you."

Idina pulls her down and Kristin collapses onto her with an "Ack!", her head pillowed in the soft junction between Idina's right shoulder and breast. She snakes an arm over Idina's waist, nestling closer. 

"When I'm with you, though," Kristin says, "it's different." 

"How?" 

“I don’t miss anything.”

 

+++


	2. Chapter 2

 

Broadway "feels like coming home," Kristin says in the dressing room fifteen minutes to opening night curtain, and Idina kisses the character makeup right off her lips. Helps her reapply it, giggling through nerves and adrenaline. Holds her hand a little tighter in the show and when it's over, hugs her so hard she's afraid Kristin might pop.

"They love you," Kristin breathes into her ear. " _I_ love you."

It's not a "You brought me coffee, I love you" or a "You're lucky I love you, dumbass."

Idina knows it's not.

Taye bursts into the room, luminous. He hands each of them a rose (pink for Kristin, green for Idina, _where the hell did he find a green rose?_ ), hugs them warmly, and whisks them off to the party. For a beautiful, fleeting moment on top of the world, Idina is convinced she can have everything.

 

-

 

The evening dwindles to the three of them in the apartment, Taye already passed out in their bedroom. Kristin sits curled up on the sofa facing Idina, sipping tea, a blanket wrapped around her legs and both cats purring in her lap. The grumpy bastards love her far more than they love Idina, but she can't really blame them.

No one had bothered to turn on any lights, but Idina had lit a pumpkin candle on the coffee table and there's streetlight pouring in. Enough to read expressions, but not the secrets beneath.

"That was only the first time," Kristin finishes a story as Idina giggles quietly into her mug. "After that, everyone just expected it."

Idina smiles. "You were the most adorable child ever." 

"Still am." 

"Hmm... it's possible."

It's too easy, too natural to lean in until their lips touch, with one of the cats snoring beneath them. It's too easy to forget this isn't their home; _their_ life -- that there's someone else here, one room away with the door cracked open, and that every swipe of Kristin's tongue against hers is not supposed to happen.

"Stay," Idina whispers, heaving the cats to the floor and crawling closer. "There's the guest room."

"And if I sleep in it, you'll end up naked in it."

Idina ignores her, licking a trail of wet kisses down Kristin's neck, one hand sliding up to fit over Kristin's breast, her thumb tracing circles over the nipple through too-thin fabric. She misses the freedom of tryouts more than she'd care to admit, the easy nights in one another's rooms, tucked away together in a heady high of sex and success. "Just stay."

Kristin squeezes her wrist, and Idina can feel her breath running shallow. "Dee..." 

"Please."

She knows she's being manipulative now, if only because she knows Kristin can't resist begging, and she knows she’s going to hell for even suggesting it here, but damn it, they deserve this, this is their night.

"Sweetpea," Kristin breathes, "you know we --"

Her words drop off in a squeak as Idina's hand finds its way under the blanket, pushing Kristin's skirt and panties out of the way and slipping into slick, wet heat with skilled ease. Six months of practice and three flutes of champagne have transformed it into the easiest thing in the world, and if that scares her, she's not going to admit it.

 

-

 

In the morning, she wakes up to find Kristin and Taye making waffles and humming duets. She can still taste Kristin on her tongue, feel Kristin's hands gripping her shoulders. The sofa looks unaffected. Someone folded the blanket into a thick, tidy square, concealing the truth in its folds.

The floor feels like quicksand.

 

+++

 

**_2004 (almost)_ **

 

Every relationship gets one cliche. They get New Year’s Eve.

Kristin greets her at Broadway's biggest party with a public-safe hug and whispers into her ear, "Check your phone in twenty-three minutes," before disappearing into the crowd. 

Twenty-three and a half minutes later, Kristin's text buzzes in her hand. _Second floor, right, 4th door on left._

Idina excuses herself, glancing around for a staircase, and tries not to think about metaphors of blind trust and following anywhere. Her fingers grip the knob she thinks is right, turning until the door swings open. Kristin's standing across the room by a wall draped in heavy red curtains. She turns when Idina steps in, smiling like the angel she is. Under the warm ambient light, with one finger tracing circles over the back of a burgundy armchair, she is nothing short of a vision. 

Idina surveys the room. An an elegant red velvet divan is splayed diagonally near the left corner by the window, a wet bar on the other side, separated by deep red carpeting and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in every direction. The center of the room houses a coffee table surrounded by button-tufted club chairs with a single, low-lit torchiere between them. It’s ridiculous and fantastic and utterly nothing compared to the way Kristin looks in the light. 

"Where are we?" Idina laughs incredulously as Kristin takes a step forward. 

"Don't know."

"Are we supposed to be in here?"

"Probably not. Lock the door."

Idina obeys, and despite the bustle of downstairs, the room falls silent. 

"What if someone has a key? What if -- " 

Kristin reaches her, cutting her off with a searing kiss, confident hands sliding up the satin lines of Idina's dress. She takes control, guiding Idina towards the divan until the backs of her knees touch the edge and fold, pulling her down into the plush fabric. In one sweeping instant, Kristin is on top of her, straddling her lap, and cups Idina's face in her hands.

Idina smiles, her pulse racing and throat suddenly dry. "Hey, you." 

Kristin mouths _Hi_ soundlessly, her thumb tracing circles over Idina's jaw as she studies her face with something that looks like reverence. Idina feels herself blush. Downstairs and outside, a muffled countdown breaks out in the crowd. 

 _Twenty-nine... twenty-eight... twenty-seven..._  

Idina's smile widens. "You realize what time it is." 

"You realize this was the best year of my life and there's no way I wasn't gonna kiss you at midnight." 

Her breath catches and her hands tighten around Kristin's waist, sliding up to her arms and over her shoulders until their poses are mirrored, Kristin's face cradled gently in her hands. 

 _Seventeen... sixteen... fifteen..._  

"I love you, Kristi Dawn." 

Maybe, time stops. 

Kristin looks about as shocked as Idina feels. Idina can't blame the alcohol she never had. She could blame the light, or Kristin's smile, or the rush of a new year's possibilities. She could blame anything, but nothing’ll keep the truth out of it. 

 _Eight... seven... six..._  

"You can't," Kristin says. 

 _Three... two... one..._  

"But I do," Idina breathes, and kisses her.

Kristin doesn't protest. She just takes her control back, guiding Idina down until Kristin can settle on top, sliding the satin up as far as it'll go before dropping to her knees on the floor as the soft, distant cheers of midnight fill the room. Idina wishes it were different -- that they were in Kristin's apartment, warm and comfortable, sprawled across Kristin's squishy, messy bed, with her vintage cat clock ticking in the background and the pink micro-fleece blanket bunched up at their feet -- or even some cottage on a private beach somewhere. She irrationally wants it to feel like the first time, not a quick fuck at a New Year's party. But it's a quick fuck at a New Year's party, and when they're done, they have to coordinate who's leaving the room first and where they were if anyone asks. It doesn't leave much room for love, so Idina tells her again. Again, again, again.

 

+++

 

It's not clear when the fights start to develop a pattern, a chain reaction. By the time Idina realizes it's happening, the chain's solid steel.

Taye doesn't yell; he just shuts down, leaving Idina to do the yelling until he storms out, or until she pushes him to one thunderous outburst, and then _she_ storms out. He's always come home before, but this Saturday he hops on a plane for L.A., and it'll be almost three days before they get to sweep this one under the rug face-to-face.

Idina shows up to the matinee twenty minutes to curtain with puffy eyes and a red nose. She manages to finish her face before Kristin wanders in, Galinda-fied and sparkling.

"Hey. You okay? I sent you a text..."

"We had a fight right before he left."

Kristin doesn't say anything, just kisses the top of her head, grabs a brush and dips into the Chromacake, spreading green down the length of Idina's neck and chest. Idina closes her eyes, letting the rhythmic sweep of Kristin's skilled hands lull her into calm. Kristin gets curry delivered between shows and somehow, after years, the day ends. She covers the stage door on her own and takes Idina home in the freezing March rain at midnight.

Idina peels off her wet clothes down to her undergarments and cuddles Maddie on the sofa while Kristin bustles around the kitchen. A clink of glasses tells her there's wine coming, and Maddie conveniently leaps off her lap at the sound of kibble pouring into her stainless steel bowl. Idina flips on the TV and pulls a blanket out from inside an ottoman, staring idly at the last half of SNL on mute. The foggy sparkle of city lights is visible through the downpour outside the wide picture window to her right, and she can make out the brightly lit sign of the Italian place on the street below where they ordered take-out last week. She thinks _It's good to be home_ , and then, in realization, _Fuck._

"Here sweetpea, doctor's orders." 

She looks up to see Kristin's smile, a glass of wine in one hand and a pair of dry pajamas in the other.

"I don't deserve you.”

"Shut up and let me take care of you."

She fingers the edge of her glass for a moment as Kristin retrieves the bottle from the kitchen and fills her own glass, setting the half empty bottle aside.

"Can I stay until he comes home?"

"You can stay as long as you want."

Idina forces herself to ignore the implications, taking a few more sips before changing into the proffered clothes as Kristin settles down beside her, silent and still, allowing them to bask in the TV's soft glow and the hypnotic splash of raindrops over pavement and rooftops.

"You wanna talk?" Kristin finally asks.

Idina doesn't. She just wants the things that need talking about to go away, and also, "I want more wine."

Kristin chuckles softly, reaching over to the end table for the bottle and topping off both glasses.

"Kris?"

"Mm?"

"I don't think I'm happy."

She doesn't mean to say it, and even as it escapes, it sounds so casual, with her gaze fixated on the screen. When she finally looks over, Kristin's eyes are dark and acutely alert.

"I don't want to be the reason you're unhappy."

"You're not," Idina assures her with a laugh, taking a large gulp before setting the glass aside. “I, on the other hand…”

"I'm serious."

"So am I. Anyway, we don't have to talk about this. My problems are mine, I shouldn't be involving you, it's selfish. I'm sorry."

" _Idina_."

"Please -- " Idina begs, her voice rough as she looks Kristin in the eye. "Please. You're the best thing I have."

She witnesses the internal debate Kristin’s fighting and prays she'll let it slide. Tentatively, she reaches across the sofa, curling her fingers over Kristin's tense hand, and Kristin's eyes squeeze shut as she pulls Idina into her arms. Idina lets herself be cradled, lets Kristin stroke her hair until it's too much sensation, and all Idina can do is lift her head and kiss her. She waits for the protest, the _Are you sure_ , but it doesn't come. The tears do, and after reaching up to cup Kristin's face, she's not sure which are hers.

"Kris -- " 

"I'm okay. It's fine, I'm fine."

Kristin dips back in to join their lips, pulling them both back into the escape. In a swift transition, Idina hooks her arms under Kristin's legs and lifts her up, carrying her to the bedroom with ease. She remembers to avoid the dining table that juts out in their path, maneuvers them around the sharp turn down the hallway, and lays Kristin gently on the bed, nestling into the blankets and ridding them of their clothes before sealing their bodies together, hands roaming with purpose.

"Stay," she begs senselessly, as if Kristin's going to leave her own apartment. "Stay with me."

Kristin slides two fingers inside her, shutting her up, and whispers, "I'm trying."

 

-

 

Idina wakes to the sound of running water and, outside, a drizzling reminder of the night's storm. Across the room, the bathroom door lingers halfway open, steam wafting from the top of the shower door. She can make out the foggy outline of Kristin's naked figure under the hot stream, fingers massaging a rich lather into her hair. She's not singing to herself like usual, or if she did, she's stopped. They hadn't said a word last night after, nor during, and Idina feels powerfully compelled to touch her, taste her, absorb some part of her, if not her voice.

She shuffles to the bathroom, pressing a palm to the shower door. Kristin stops washing for a moment, watching her through textured glass. After a few seconds, she pushes the door open, letting Idina step in beside her. Kristin's eyes are magnificently green in the humidity, her lips bright pink and dripping wet, but her face blank, almost confused.

Carefully, Idina drops to her knees, hands sliding up the sides of Kristin's legs until they're gripping her hips for leverage. She looks up at her, then tilts her head downward, and Kristin's breath hitches, her hands scrabbling for support until one's pressed firmly to the wall, the other wrapped in Idina's hair.

Who needs words, anyway.

 

-

 

When they're dry and fed, Kristin takes her to church. It's not the first time. When they stand for hymns, she tries to stop glancing down at Kristin's bare shoulder peeking out from her baby blue dress.

Idina closes her eyes and sings along with what she remembers of "Great is Thy Faithfulness." It's not the second time, either.

 

+++

 

On an unseasonably warm May morning at dawn, Idina wakes up in Kristin's arms and smiles, wiggling closer, trying both to remember and forget what time Taye gets into JFK. Already awake, Kristin leans in to kiss her. 

"Mm, go back to sleep," Idina pouts as their lips separate. "I was gonna make you pancakes." 

And Kristin says, "Leave him." 

Idina stares at her. Kristin's eyes are too intense to withstand, so she watches her mouth, trying to recreate the words in her mind. 

She blinks. "What?" 

"You're not happy. He's not happy. I'm mad crazy in love with you, I'm pretty sure you feel the same way, and I think you should leave him." 

It sounds so matter-of-fact that she could just as easily be explaining to Joe why she should be coming in from stage right instead of stage left. Slowly, Idina pushes herself up, the blankets and sheets gathered around her waist. Kristin mirrors her, sitting up straight to keep their eyes on an even level, and doesn't blink. 

"I -- " Idina starts, feeling a lump swell in her throat. "Oh, god." 

"I know," Kristin says in a rush as she grabs Idina's hands, grounding herself. "I know, I know, everything will change and everyone'll butt into our private lives and take our picture everywhere we go and we'll never be able to do another interview for the rest of our lives without talking about it, and everyone’ll judge every role we take against it, and we may never get the same jobs we'd get otherwise, and half my Christian fan base will desert me, and nothing will ever, ever be the same." 

Idina stares at her, wordless. 

"But..." Kristin continues, her voice softening as she lifts one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Idina's ear. "But... we could hold hands on the street and wake up together every morning. I -- I could kiss you at curtain call, in front of everyone. And when I write my book, I could tell the whole world how much I love you instead of reducing you to some bullshit line about how great it was working together." 

Idina can barely see her anymore through the well of tears and she lunges forward before any can escape, trapping Kristin in a kiss that's supposed to say everything Idina can't, but it tastes like silence. 

She waits until their foreheads press together, eyes squeezed shut. 

Until she touches a hand to Kristin's chest and feels her heart pounding beneath. 

Until Kristin folds her hand over Idina's and whispers, "You are the light of my life." 

Idina says, "I can't." 

She doesn't think the words come as a surprise, but the implications are almost unbearable: that Kristin laid this raw, one-shot confession on the table in full awareness of the odds. For a moment, Idina wishes she didn't know her as well as she does -- that all the conversations in the dark, wrapped in each others arms, sharing secrets and fears, could simply disappear. For one selfish instant, she wishes she weren't intimately acquainted with Kristin's insecurities, her lifelong fear of abandonment ignited by the parents who didn't want her and fueled by every partner she's been so quick to leave before they could leave first. 

"I love you," Idina tells her, finding what's left of her voice. "I love you _so much_ , you are the most incredible women I've ever -- " 

"Don't," Kristin whispers, drawing her hands away. "Just don’t." 

"I -- I can't -- it's not like we're -- I'm _married_. It's not that simple." 

"I didn't say it was simple." 

"I love him, too." 

"Not enough." 

The words sting and linger like an acid echo, burning through the room. Given the past, the present, and the scatter of clothes on the floor, Idina knows it isn’t an accusation, nor a suggestion. It is merely a forceful truth, but that does nothing to stop her defenses from rising. 

"I don't think it's your place to tell me how much I love my husband." 

"I don't have to tell you. You know." 

Slowly, Kristin climbs off the bed, gathering a shirt and sweatpants from the floor and tugging them on. 

"Don't do this," Idina pleads. "Kristin -- " 

"What are you so fucking scared of?" Kristin whirls around. "You sing it every night but you can't close your eyes and leap when it counts? What do you think this is, Idina? You think we just keep fucking each other and you stay married and no one ever finds out? Were you just waiting to get bored with this so you could end it?" 

"What -- _no!_ Fuck you, that is _bullshit!_ " 

"No, it's bullshit that you think we can keep doing this. It's bullshit that you expect me to be satisfied with half of you. It's bullshit that we can't be together because you can't face the fact that your marriage isn't the fairytale it's supposed to be -- that one day it's gonna end, one way or another, because if he were the right person for you, you wouldn't be cheating on him for a whole _year!_ "  
  
“Really, Kristin, because last I checked it takes two people to cheat and I haven’t heard you complain _once!_ ”  
  
“You haven’t heard a damn thing because you never let us talk about this, ever!"  
  
“What the hell is there to talk about? You knew what you were getting into!”  
  
“No, Idina, I _didn’t_! Did you?! Was there a fucking rule book I missed somewhere? Because maybe you should’ve highlighted the chapter on _not falling for each other!_ ” 

“God damn it, I didn’t _plan_ this!” 

“But it happened, and now _I_ have to deal with it because apparently you can’t. You tell me you’re not happy, you come to me when you fight with him, you tell me you _love_ me, and I get this crazy idea that maybe _we_ should be together! What the hell do you expect from me? What?!” 

Idina shoves the blankets away, scrambling off the opposite side of the bed to dig for her clothes. Her hands are shaking as she pulls a stray shirt over her head, realizing too late it's one of Kristin's, one of Idina's favorites, and it smells so damn good that her balance gives out. Falling back to the bed, she lets her legs dangle over the edge, squeezing her eyes with her palms until she sees stars. No matter how many times this moment played out in her nightmares, she could never prepare for it. 

She feels the mattress dip beside her, a small hand coming to rest on her knee. When she opens her eyes, Kristin's face has steeled itself into something worse. Something Idina's never seen in this tiny, power-packed bundle of theatrics. 

It's emptiness. 

"We can't do this anymore," Kristin says. 

Idina thinks, _We can't **not**_ **.**

"I've prayed about this a lot," she continues, slowly and clearly, folding and refolding her hands, "and I've only gotten one clear signal back. It's not right. It's killing us. And it's going to kill the show, and our friendship, if we don't stop." 

"Kris -- " 

"I don't want to be your secret anymore. I can't do it. It's wrong, and it's unfair, and I can't do it." 

Idina can't help the tears anymore, but she stops trying. There's no reason to hold herself together if everything else is falling apart. 

"I'm sorry," she says automatically. "I never meant to..." 

"I know." 

She studies Kristin's face, memorizing every freckle, every line, from the curve of her lips to the tempest of her eyes. She is perfect, she is impossible, she is _everything,_ and Idina's letting her go. 

"How am I supposed to not touch you?" she chokes out, reaching out to skate her fingertips down Kristin’s face. "How am I supposed to not kiss you? How am I supposed to walk away?”

"Stop." 

Kristin closes her eyes. She doesn't open them when Idina waits, she doesn't open them when Idina touches her shoulder, and she doesn't open them when time grinds to a halt. 

"I think you should go." 

Numbly, Idina makes her way through the apartment, collecting her bag and shoes. She leaves the rest. It's not the time. 

There will never be a time for this.

 

-

 

It's not until she's standing on the concrete with the Monday morning buzz of traffic around her that she realizes it's their day off. That's a whole day and a half of separation ahead, and she's not sure if that's the best or worst news she's gotten since leaving Kristin's apartment. 

The animals are happy to see her when she comes home to silent, chilly rooms. She scrounges around the kitchen, but the only edible option is hashbrowns. The empty bowl stays on the floor by the sofa when she's done, doing her best to let a Real World marathon shut down her brain. It doesn't work, if the pile of wadded Kleenex at her feet is evidence enough. Chinese delivery arrives at lunch and survives to dinner. She should clean the litter box. She should stop by the bank. She should make an appointment with her hairstylist. She should call her manager back about the magazine. She should answer Cara's and Michelle's texts. She should really, really take a shower. 

Instead she finds herself in a cab at eight. 

Kristin doesn't look fully surprised to see her, but there's something in her eyes that's filled a little of the emptiness Idina left her with. Something that looks like hope. 

"Hi." 

Kristin steps aside to let her in without a word. Her face is flushed, eyes puffy. She's wearing the same clothes, the same dishes are marinating in the sink, and if it weren't for Maddie curled up on the sofa looking contentedly walked and fed, Idina would swear Kristin hadn't left the bedroom till now. 

Idina turns back to face her. "I'm sorry." 

Kristin watches her blankly. 

"I wanted to say -- that," she forces herself to continue. "That -- I'm sorry, I'm so -- so fucking sorry, and I have no idea why you love me because I'm shitty, and selfish, and I've hurt you, and -- and you're right. We'll hurt the show, and I should never have expected you to -- I shouldn't have let this -- I want to give you everything and -- _fuck_ , I don't know what I'm saying. I'm sorry." 

"It's okay." 

"It's not. I -- I wanted you to know how much I respect you, and -- I don't ever want to lose you. Even if we can only be friends."

"I don't think we'll ever 'only be friends,' sweetie." 

Idina steps into her space and takes Kristin's hands, holding them to her chest. "You deserve so much better than me." 

Kristin closes her eyes, lowering her head. Without thought, Idina takes Kristin's face in her hands and kisses her, because her brain is determined to top every shitty decision she's ever made. Kristin kisses her back, desperately, for far more seconds than she should because these are the last seconds they get. 

Kristin looks up into her eyes when they pull apart. "I would've done everything to make you happy." 

"You _do_." 

"Not enough." 

Idina's chest constricts, her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach. She is far too well acquainted with the self-doubt of self-worth, the crippling pit of _not enough_ that she still finds herself struggling to climb out of three decades later. It's her burden to bear, always has been, always will be, fueled by every missed note, every harsh review, every drift of Taye's eyes towards another pair of tits. _Not enough_ is supposed to be _her_ curse -- not Kristin's. Kristin may be neurotic and obsessive-compulsive and self-conscious and immaculately talented at hiding it, but above all, she is love and beauty and generosity and light, and Idina has made her feel like less. 

This was supposed to feel like closure, like some kind of devastating peace, but it only feels wrong. Not just heartache wrong, but fingernails-on-a-chalkboard wrong, and for a moment she can't remember why she ever said no.

"Did you need some of your stuff?" Kristin asks, stepping back and glancing around the space -- Idina's jacket over a chair, a pair of her flats under the coffee table. A book by the sofa. She doesn't think of how much more is out of sight -- the scattering of makeup in the bathroom, a silk scarf tucked into the nightstand drawer as the memories flash through her mind -- delicate wrists bound to the wrought iron bars of the headboard, chest heaving, skin glowing, eyes glassy, the whimpers she made when -- 

Idina swallows hard. "I'll get it later."

She doesn't.

 

+++


	3. Chapter 3

Carrying a secret is easier when the secret's still carrying you. With Kristin came weightlessness, a permanent high with enough doses to keep Idina from ever sobering up. Now, with no slender arms to crawl into, no golden hair to breathe in, no cries of pleasure to muffle or sweet, slow kisses to share, the full weight of the past year comes crashing down. They defied gravity for too long, and gravity’s taking revenge. 

Kristin is tirelessly professional, not missing a single beat of a single performance. Idina knows she's not allowed to be offended, but her ego's insistent. She thinks she can feel a difference when their eyes meet on stage, but everything is manageable until they touch. Until she has to grab Glinda’s hand, pull her close and release her on cue. It’s not the first time she's ever questioned her ability to do her job, but by god, it’s the hardest. 

Kristin still waits for her to come down after the first act curtain. She still looks Idina straight in the eye and holds out a hand, helping her off the platform before they're separated in a flurry of costumes and touch-ups. Once, Idina trips over her dress as she steps down, but Kristin's lightning reflexes kick into gear, her spare hand clasping Idina's bicep to steady her. 

She squeezes, just for a moment. "I've got you."

 

+++

 

"This sucks. Come over to my place and -- " 

Three weeks of awkward semi-silence is long enough. She marches into Kristin's dressing room on a Friday without knocking to find her half undressed, in lacy white panties and Glinda's corset, seemingly unaffected as Idina stands in the doorway, undressing her with her eyes. 

Kristin leans back slightly against the vanity table. "...And?" 

Idina blinks, lifting her eyes and closing the door behind her. "Sorry -- um. Come over and watch a movie with me. A stupid one." 

Kristin raises an eyebrow. 

"Friends,” Idina says quickly. “Just friends. I miss you. This is stupid, and I miss you, and we should hang out." 

"Okay." 

"Okay?" 

"Yeah. Tonight?" 

"Yeah... you doing the door?" 

"I should. Do it with me, I'll meet you at your place after." 

"Okay." 

Kristin smiles. "Okay." 

They haven't done the door together in three weeks. Maybe they can turn back time, after all.

 

+++

 

"I still can't believe he asked you to sign his ass." 

"Oh my god, what _was_ that?!" 

They're laughing when Idina pushes her front door open, cats swarming instantly at their feet. She flips on one of the small lamps by the sofa, offering just enough light to make her way to the kitchen as Kristin settles herself on the sofa to prepare for a lapful of kitties. It's too comfortable, too normal -- surely it can't be this easy to go back. To just pick up where they left off as if every step they take isn't tiptoeing around the elephant in the room -- as if surrendering one shred of self control wouldn't find them writhing on the floor in the span of a single breath. 

"Want a drink?" 

It's a few seconds before Kristin answers. "Sure. A small one." 

"Mm, that's a first. You worried I'll try to seduce you?" 

 _Shit, fuckity shit._  

Kristin's silent, and Idina becomes fascinated with the marble countertop. "Sorry." 

"Bring me my drink, loser." 

She looks up, and Kristin's smiling at her reassuringly. At least one of them is good at this, and maybe that's enough. She pours a couple inches into Kristin's glass and heads to the sofa, setting the glasses and bottle on the coffee table.

"Well doggone it, sweetheart, I ain't a Mormon." Kristin reaches for the bottle and adds a couple more inches to her glass.

Idina smiles and doesn't say, _I miss you._ She doesn't say _I miss when you're Southern_ or _I miss laughing with you_ or _I miss the way you cling to me after you come._ Her own glass, filled to the brim, says enough.

 

-

 

Idina would love to say it's a complete accident, but she's juggling enough lies as it is. 

They browse cable movies for something stupid, as promised, until Kristin spots _Love, Actually_ and shrieks, settling for nothing less. At first it's wonderful, quoting favorite bits and reminiscing about the last four times they watched it together, safely back in tryouts when they lived one floor apart and Idina had no idea how Kristin's lips felt on hers. She lets the film pull her in, getting lost in all the lives that aren't hers, only vaguely registering that a second bottle of wine finds its way to the table and whoever sat back down after the last bathroom break managed to close whatever distance was left between their bodies. Kristin's hip is flush against hers, and even through two layers of fabric, all Idina can feel is fire. 

Andrew Lincoln confesses his love, poster after poster, and Idina can feel Kristin start to twitch beside her. 

It doesn't feel wrong when it starts -- her hand, slowly moving to rest against Kristin's, an innocent touch of _I'm here_ or _Don't be sad_ or any other host of words she can pretend to mean. And for several moments, that's all it ever had to be. 

Until Kristin shifts, slowly, her hand slipping under Idina's and turning upwards, palm to palm. It's an awkward position unless they let their fingers intertwine, which Idina so obligingly does. 

It can stop here. 

Until Kristin's thumb starts tracing circles in the center of her palm, no different from the way she used to do it when she had Idina's hands pinned to the mattress. 

Still -- it can stop here. 

Until their fingers, ever so slowly, begin to move together... closing, opening, intertwining and curling over one another in a rhythm, an imperfect substitute for their bodies but no less obvious. 

Idina closes her fingers tight around Kristin's, and it's enough. Kristin's pulling her in, their heads turning only at the last moment for lips to crash, and then hands are _everywhere_. 

It's different, like this -- breaking their own rules. It's a new level of desperation and ache and _want_ , like they're both trying to get as much as they can before one of them comes to their senses. Idina knows there'll be hell to pay and nothing good can come of it, nothing except the impossible sweetness of Kristin's mouth and the press of her breasts and the way all the grooves of their bodies seal together like liquid. Kristin wrestles her way on top, settling into the V between Idina's legs and kissing the very breath from her lungs. Idina lets one leg drop to the floor for support, pulling Kristin's tiny, pliant shape as close as she can, trying to tug at clothing and never stop kissing her and memorize every muscle she feels beneath her palms, every curve, the dip in Kristin's lower back, the sharp press of Kristin's hipbones and the soft curtain of her hair and the white-hot touch of her fingers, all at once. Kristin's rutting against her now, no subtlety or finesse, dropping her head into the curve of Idina's neck and gasping against the skin, breathless as she works a hand under Idina's shirt to slide over the fabric of her bra. She sneaks a finger inside the satin cup, brushing over the nipple, and Idina forgets to breathe, the last of her air escaping in a lost, feeble whimper. 

The sound flips the switch. 

Kristin's hand stills against Idina's breast, and the shallow puff of her breath disappears. Idina knows better than to try to pull her out of it, coax her back, so she waits. She waits with one hand halfway down Kristin's pants until Kristin slowly starts to extract herself from the situation. Physically, she manages.

She sits up when Kristin's finally standing, tugging her shirt back into place. "Kris." 

Kristin doesn't look at her. She stares at the movie they'd completely tuned out, and Idina reaches for the remote, hitting Stop. 

"I'm sorry," Kristin says. 

"No, I am." 

"I didn't mean to let that happen." 

"I think it was kind of a team effort." 

Kristin closes her eyes, and Idina gets to her feet, wrapping herself around Kristin from behind. She presses her face into Kristin's hair, inhaling deeply. At this rate she has no idea when she'll get to do it again and god damn it, she's not going to forget.

"It's gonna be okay," she whispers. "We'll figure it out." 

Kristin twists away from her, not unkindly but with clear intent, and looks her straight in the eye, some kind of renewed tenacity taking shape.

"I think it's too soon," Kristin says. "For us to -- I think we need time. I need time. To get over... this." 

 _You_ , Idina hears. _To get over **you**._ She wants to tell her, in utmost selfishness, that she doesn't _want_ Kristin to get over her. She wants to hold her and make love to her and never stop and ignore the rest of their lives -- precisely the course of action that got them into this mess in the first place, with Kristin's heart shattered and Idina's split in two.

"I'll do anything you need," she tells her. "I'll support whatever you have to do." 

_Just don't stop loving me. Whatever you do, don't._

Kristin stares at her for a long minute. Something unclear passes over her face like she's considering something rash, but it's gone before Idina can work up the nerve to ask. 

In two days, she won't have to.

 

-

 

The Saturday matinee is a wreck. 

Idina spends an hour preparing, deep breaths and character work and stupid exercises she hasn't done since college, but it's pointless. She's not there and she can't get there. She does her best, and Kristin still shines, but mutedly. The chemistry's gone. They can barely keep eye contact during "Popular" and it's the first time she's ever seen Kristin's work falter. It terrifies her enough to keep her stumbling through the rest of act one. 

Kristin pulls her into a deserted corner out of the crew's way as soon as she steps off the platform. It's cutting into the precious little time they've got to change clothes, but really, who fucking cares. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so -- " 

"It's okay. Stop, you're okay. Look at me." Krisitn grabs her hands, holds them up between their chests, clasping tightly. "You're going to get through the show." 

"I don't want to do it. I just want to go home. I don't want this, I don't want to go out there and sing that song with you." 

"Idina." 

"It _hurts_." Idina feels her eyes sting, and she knows she's adding another five minutes to touch-ups. "Kris, this fucking _hurts_." 

Kristin swallows, her eyes darkening as she struggles to focus. "Do it for me." 

 _I'll do anything you need_ , she'd promised. 

So she does.

 

-

 

The evening is better, but only a little. The crowd is so damn happy to see them, and it helps. It distracts. The rush of emotion is gone, leaving Idina with a calm sort of numbness that's easy to tuck away beneath Elphaba. 

After her shower, she does the door on auto-pilot and Kristin's nowhere to be seen. 

 _Where are you?_ she texts when she finally stumbles into her empty living room.

 _I'm home,_ Kristin texts back. Then, _I'm sorry I ran off._ Then, _Are you home?_

_No._

_No?_

_I'm not with you._

 

-

 

They don't talk until Sunday night. The Gershwin's mostly empty when Idina arrives early, but she'd rather be in her dressing room than at home. Taye's flight should be landing any minute, and she doesn't have the energy to put on the smile he deserves. It's unfair, but she needs her strength for the show. She greens up early minus hands and settles into her armchair with a book and a cup of tea with honey, barely making it half a page before there's a slight creak in the door and a tiny hand pushes it open. 

Kristin's head pops through. "You're early." 

"So are you." She tries to smile. "Hi." 

"Hi." 

"You wanna come in?" 

The rest of Kristin appears, slipping through the door and pushing it shut. She has a pink box in one hand and her purse in the other, which she drops automatically on the chair by the door. Idina recognizes the box from the gourmet cupcake shop down the street, and her eyes widen, all troubles momentarily disabled.

"You _didn't_." 

Kristin smiles shyly, holding out the box. "Banana nut, strawberry cream cheese icing. Ya damn weirdo." 

Idina grabs the box and shoves the treat into her mouth, forgetting the green. Frosting gets everywhere and she doesn't care, there's time to reapply. Cupcakes take precedence over the job, always. Kristin tugs a chair close and sits opposite her, picking at bits of her own chocolate cupcake but not eating, after Idina hands the box back to her. 

"Thanks," Idina tells her when she finally swallows. "I haven't eaten all day." 

"I'm leaving." 

Kristin seems to react to her own words before Idina does, clasping a hand over her mouth. Her eyes go wide and Idina stares, frozen. 

Kristin shakes her head, lips moving beneath her palm. "I didn't -- " 

"You _what_?" 

"I didn't mean to say that."

"You didn't _mean to say it_?!" 

Kristin's eyes are still wide, horrified. "I was gonna tell you -- after the show. _After_. Not _before_ , oh god. I think it's the Ambien, it hasn't worn off, or -- I don't know -- god I'm -- I'm so sorry. Oh, _fuck._ " 

Kristin rarely drops F-bombs, and at any other moment Idina would tease her to the ends of the earth. But now it barely registers amongst the screaming echos of every other word. 

"What -- " Idina chokes, her heart pounding. "What the hell is going on." 

Kristin meets her eyes, smoothing her hands carefully over her jeans, and takes a deep breath. "I've decided not to renew my contract." 

"Why." 

"A lot of reasons. You know my neck's still bothering me. I don't think it's up for another eight months of this. And... there's some projects in L.A. I want to pursue. And... you know, four years… it's a long time. I don't want to leave when I'm exhausted and bitter. I want to leave while it’s still good." 

It sounds so rehearsed they might as well work it into the script. 

"All excellent reasons," Idina deadpans. "You gonna tell me the truth, or do I only deserve the interview answer?" 

Kristin's eyes darken. "It is the truth." 

"It's a fraction of the truth. It is the minimal amount." 

"Dee -- " 

"Don't fucking call me that." 

" _Idina_ \-- "

"How the fuck am I supposed to do this without you?" she hisses, bolting from her chair. 

Kristin rises slowly, straightening herself up as tall as she can. She takes a step forward but Idina takes one back. Kristin doesn't get to break her, not now. Not like this, not sixty fucking minutes before a show. 

"You can do this," Kristin says. "You don't need me. You're..." She smiles, sadly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Idina's ear. "You're a star. You own this."  
  
“Yeah? What, are you jealous? Is that what it’s about? ‘Cause, fuck, that would make this a lot easier.”  
  
“Stop.” 

Idina's shaking her head, folding her arms defensively around her torso. "I don't _want_ to do it without you. It's not mine. It's _ours_."

"Dee -- " 

"Tell me the _truth._ I swear to god, Kristin. If you're lying to me I'll never forgive you." 

Kristin steps back, holding her arms firmly at her sides. "I need to leave. For me."

"Because of me."  
  
“You said it yourself. How are you supposed to walk away from this? You won’t. So I have to. Literally.”  
  
“That isn’t what I -- “ 

" _Damn it_ , Idina, I need enough space that I can start trying to get the fuck over you!" 

That's it -- the magic combination of words, the incantation that breaks her.

She turns away, letting herself fall to the floor against the wall, her face in her hands as silent sobs jolt through her body. She'll probably have to shower off and reapply, but it doesn't fucking matter.

Kristin crouches next to her, folds her arms around the tight ball of Idina's curled-up frame and doesn't say a word. Idina doesn't have the energy to push her off, and being in Kristin's arms has its own rewards, despite it all. 

"Do you want me to call Eden?" 

Idina shakes her head, pulling herself up to look into Kristin's eyes. There are tears there too, but Kristin's fighting hard to keep them where they are. With nothing left to lose, Idina leans forward, closing the space between them. Kristin is open and accepting, their mouths moving gently for a few moments, only a half-step above chaste. When they separate, Kristin's got green on her mouth and a few splotches on her cheeks, and Idina remembers she forgot the sealant. She doesn't lift a sleeve to wipe it off. She wants it to stay on Kristin's face, wants to cover her in it so it'll always be part of her. 

Kristin places a hand on Idina's chest, right over her pounding heart. "I will always, always be here.” 

"No," Idina says flatly. "You won't." 

The show starts late. If there are a few extra drops of venom in "What is This Feeling?", no one says a word.

 

-

 

Taye takes one look at her, nudges the dog off his lap and crosses the room, his smile vanishing as he pulls her into his arms.

"She's leaving," Idina says into his shoulder, trying not to hear the words herself. "Kristin's leaving." 

He holds her tighter and doesn't respond. Idina wonders, suddenly, if he knows. Years later, as they begin to drift further and further apart, she'll be almost certain of it.

 

+++

 

When Tony noms come out, Idina had forgotten about them entirely. She'd forgotten how hard Joe campaigned for them and for a moment, forgets why she was last mad at him. When she hears both their names called out, all she can do is laugh. It beats all the nights crying. She wants to tell Kristin she's so fucking proud of her, wants to hold her and squeal and jump up and down with her and start picking out dresses with her, and she can't, and it aches. She misses her like she's never missed anything in her whole life and she still sees the woman every god damn day. 

 _You're gonna win for this_ , Kristin had told her during tryouts, beaming, and Idina does.

When they call her name on stage, the distance and pain between them vanishes for one blurry moment. Her first and only clear instinct is to lean forward into the next row just to grab hold of Kristin, touch her, kiss her, because this is _theirs_. They've barely spoken outside of shows for weeks, but none of it matters now.

 _Kristin Chenoweth, you are the grace and the light on that stage every night_ , she says. _This is something we built together and I love you._

It's so easy to say in front of millions. When someone puts a Tony in your hand, you can tell everyone you've ever met that you love them and no one bats an eye. 

She'd always wanted to scream it from the rooftops, if she's honest with herself, so maybe this is the next best thing.

 

-

 

Idina doesn't look for her at the after-party. She has no expectations, and Kristin's taken to disappearing anyway. She clings to her martini and busies herself with her cell phone to ward off any more congratulators, settling herself on a stone bench in a corner of one of the terraces. She'd said something to Taye about fresh air. At least that wasn't a lie. 

"What's a pretty girl like you doin' out here all by her lonesome?" 

She looks up to see Kristin's smiling face -- a real smile, the kind that reaches her eyes and sets dimples into her cheeks. She drinks Kristin in with her eyes, the deep pink fabric leaving little to the imagination, the highlights of her hair, the twinkle in her eyes. She looks happier, more radiant than Idina has seen her in months. 

Kristin takes a few steps forward, her hips swaying over the boost of four-inch heels. She's got a drink in her hand, but it doesn't look like she's given it much attention. Idina watches her approach, stopping a few feet from where Idina's sitting to lean out over the stone railing, peering across the landscaped garden. Under the hum of voices inside, the chirp of crickets fills the air. A scattering of pathlights illuminating the expanse of greenery casts a soft golden hue over Kristin's face, as if she weren't glowing enough. 

"It's beautiful," Kristin murmurs.

"Yeah," Idina agrees, staring at her. "It is."

She turns back to Idina and smiles. "Congratulations, Miss Tony Award Winner."

"It doesn't seem real."

"But it is."

"Are you wildly jealous?"

"Only of every other person who touched you tonight." 

Idina's chest clenches, and something lower jolts awake. 

"Sorry," Kristin says, smiling to herself as she drops her eyes to the ground. "That was -- no. I’m really, really proud of you." 

"Of _us_. This is ours, no matter what they say." 

Kristin brings her eyes back up, a bit cautious. "What you said... on stage. I -- I want you know. You’re worth how much this hurts. And -- I’m sorry. For every mistake I've made. I don't even know where to start," she chuckles to herself, swiping a finger under one moist eye. "Probably with seducing a married woman." 

Idina's face falls, a chill running through her veins. "You think we were a mistake." 

"No -- god, no, that's not what I -- I mean, in the grand scheme of morality, yeah, but..." She steps an inch closer, lowering her voice. "I wouldn't take back one minute." 

“Neither would I." Idina looks away. "I -- I don't even know why you're apologizing. All of this is my fault." 

"No. It's -- whatever it is, it's done. We move forward." 

Kristin's voice breaks on the last syllable, a single tear zig-zagging down one cheek. Idina lifts her hand to brush it away, holding her own at bay. 

"Don't," she tells Kristin quietly. "You'll smudge."

Kristin laughs, swiping at her own face. "You think I was crazy enough not to wear waterproof?" 

They share a smile, one united front against a thousand unspoken words. Back inside, the band slides into the sleepy chords of an old Sinatra tune, leading the singer through the opening lines. 

_The way you wear your hat...  
_ _The way you sip your tea..._

Idina closes her eyes. "I wish I could dance with you."

_The memory of all that..._

"Yeah." Kristin glances around. Most of the press have gone or been kicked out by now, but it's never safe.

 _No, they can't take that away from me._  

"Actually, I wish I could ask you if you wanted to get outta here." 

Idina bites back every word that leads to _yes_ , frozen to the spot.

"But I don't want to take separate cars," Kristin goes on. "And I don't want you to go home in the morning. I want to dance with you, right here, in front of everyone, and take your hand and walk you to the car, and take you home and take you to bed and wake up with you. And you stay." 

Idina stares at her, all reasons for _no_ slipping rapidly through her fingers. 

"But I can't," Kristin says. "And -- I never will." 

"Kris..." 

"Do you understand why I have to leave?" 

"But, that -- all of that -- I want that too." 

"That's not all you want. You’ve made that clear. Idina, you -- you _can’t have everything_.” 

Idina doesn't have time to react before Taye appears in the terrace archway, one foot still inside, calling her name. She looks up, dazed, trying to focus on his face, the slightly plastic look of his smile and the flash of confusion in his eyes, and that's when she realizes she's crying. 

"They need you in here," he says. 

Idina nods to him and he disappears. She turns back to Kristin, but the guard's already gone up in Kristin's eyes. The moment's over.

She smiles weakly, bringing a palm to fit over Idina's cheek. "You have to go." 

"But -- " 

Kristin leans in, pressing a kiss to the cheekbone just above her fingertips. "And I have to let you."

 

+++

 

When Kristin's trying not to cry, she cries. 

When Idina's trying not to cry, she laughs. 

That's how the last show goes. 

Idina makes an appearance at the party, but doesn't last long. Kristin walks her to the door, steps outside so they're alone, but there's not much point to it. They've said their goodbyes a million times in a million different ways by never saying it at all. This is just the end of the end. Idina mostly feels numb. The thought of this moment for weeks on end was worse than the reality of it, now that it's here. 

"I'm not going to Mars." 

"I know." 

"I won't even be in L.A. for another week." 

"I know." 

"Text me when you get home." 

"Okay." 

Kristin reaches for Idina's hand, closing her own around it and depositing something into her palm. Idina looks down, opens her hand to find a small silver pendant on a chain. Etched across its surface, over the rounded corners and over the back is a brightly winding yellow brick road, sculpted and painted in full, exquisite detail. When she turns it over, the road dead-ends into a bright green and literally Emerald City. A clasp on the edge of the pendant catches on her nail, and she flips it open, thumbing her fingers over the words engraved into each circular side. 

_Always follow your path.  
_ _Love, KDC_

Idina looks up. "Where did you..." 

Kristin presses a finger to her lips. "Text me when you get home." 

Idina wants to hug her, hold her, melt into her, but she knows if she touches that much of her it’ll be impossible to walk away. She squeezes Kristin’s hand, the driver honks, and Kristin lets go. Idina looks out the back of the car window, watching Kristin watch her drive away until they round a corner and she disappears. 

The apartment is empty. She's not sure where Taye is. He told her, but she can't remember. She slides down against a wall, sitting uncomfortably on the hardwood, and pulls out her phone. 

_I'm not home._

 

-

 

Jennifer doesn't try to be Kristin. She takes on Glinda anew, with her own intonations and quirks, and Idina is eternally fucking grateful.

 

+++


	4. Chapter 4

**_2005_ **

 

Life rolls quietly into a new season... two, three, four. Kristin's in New York sometimes, but they don't talk about it. She doesn't volunteer her schedule and Idina doesn't ask. There are texts, sometimes. Safe things. A picture of the ridiculous Harlequin book cover Kristin spotted at Target. An announcement that the coffee place by Gershwin now offers Kristin's favorite syrup flavor so she'd better come try it soon. They're not friends, not really, but they act like it. She gives Kristin her space, gives her husband the attention he deserves, focuses on work, and grows the fuck up. 

The work-focusing and grow-the-fuck-up-ing land her in Los Angeles for a day and a half for photo shoots, and that's fine. It's fine because Kristin's busy and that's how it's supposed to be. It's fine when Denny tells her to give Kristin a hug for him and Idina tells him she's not here to see Kristin and he says she's a villainous flax-wench if she doesn't because every time he gets Kristin drunk she tells him she misses Idina in precisely such vague and unimaginative terms. That's fine, Idina thinks, ignoring when her heartbeat speeds up a bit. It's fine. She does the same thing to half her friends, which is why she doesn't get drunk anymore. 

She texts Kristin anyway. For Denny's sake. 

 _Looks like we're in the same city for all of 24 hrs. I always forget how this traffic gives NY a run for its money._  

 _Tell me about it!_ Kristin writes back. _Where ya stayin?_  

 _Four Seasons, rm 819_  

Idina stares at the words, too little too late. Really? The room number? Just, _why_?

 _That's oddly specific ;)_ Kristin responds after a few moments, when Idina's hopeless face is planted firmly in her hopeless palms. God damn it. 

 _Force of habit. Get your mind out of the gutter._ For good measure, she adds a _< 3_. 

 _Mhmm :)_ is Kristin's only response. 

Vile woman. So be it. 

 _Do you want to hang out for a bit?_ Idina writes before her brain can stop her. 

 _I'm filming tonight... I'm sorry._  

Relief and disappointment in equal measures wash over her. _No worries!_ she writes. _Have fun._  

She's in the shower when she hears her phone go off again. She considers turning off the water and getting out with conditioner still in her hair, for fuck's sake. But she finishes the damn shower, dries herself off completely and twists a towel around her head before looking at the screen. 

_I'll be done at 11. Too late?_

 

-

 

Kristin shows up at midnight with a bottle of wine, a blue sundress and sparkly yellow flats, making her even smaller than Idina remembers. 

"Trying to get me drunk?" 

Kristin raises an eyebrow, cocking her hip to one side. "I never had to try."

It's playful though, not seductive, and Idina pushes aside the urge to pin her against the wall. Instead she steps back, gesturing Kristin into the room. 

"Someone had a birthday," Kristin explains, setting the bottle down on the desk. "I, uh... borrowed it from the set." 

"You dirty little thief." 

Kristin smiles, her eyes darting nervously around the room. "I don't know why I brought it." 

"Because wine is awesome."

"Yeah." 

Kristin finally looks at her. "Hi." 

"Hi." 

This is ludicrous. They've been coworkers, lovers, friends, competitors, exes, in varying sequence. They've seen each other naked and they've seen each other cry, they've fought and laughed and they've survived each other's worsts and bests, and Idina won't allow this to be awkward. She steps forward, throwing her arms around Kristin, and Kristin melts into her. Idina lifts her off her feet because that's what she does, and Kristin clings to her for dear life because that's what _she_ does. Kristin still smells exactly the same, and it hurts in the most wonderful way. 

"I missed you.” 

Kristin squeezes tighter. "Missed you more." 

When Idina sets her on her feet, Kristin surveys the room before turning back with a smirk. "Good to see you're still as messy as ever."

And Idina kisses her. 

For the shortest moment it's sweeping and romantic, cradling Kristin's face in her hands as their lips fit together like they were never apart. Kristin is so, so very warm and impossibly soft and Idina's never tasted anything better than this. And just as quick as it happened, Idina pulls back. 

"Fuck! Shit, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I wasn't gonna do that, I really wasn't, I'm sorry, I know you need space and I'm just fucking it all up -- " 

Instantly, Kristin closes in, their bodies so close to flush that Idina can feel the energy pulsing between them. 

"Think I've had enough space for now," Kristin says, and kisses her back. 

They don't make it to the bed. They make it to the floor after peeling off clothes in record time, spread out over the hard hotel carpeting, and Idina keeps an arm circled under Kristin's back to ward off the rug burn, the other hand sliding downward without preamble. She holds her and fucks her right there, kissing her all the way through it until Kristin's a writhing mess in her arms, flushed from head to toe and panting against her. They stumble to the bed after, but it doesn't slow them down. Idina wishes it would, wishes they could stop time and relish every second and draw it out for hours, but she knows if they do, one of them will change their mind. 

She watches Kristin's head between her legs, watches her own fingers tighten in silky blonde strands, tugging in just the right way to make Kristin moan against her. She knows Kristin so well, now... knows every trigger, every trick to drive her crazy, but seeing it in action never gets old. Closing her eyes, she feels Kristin's hand slide up and clasp her free one, intertwining their fingers against the soft skin of Idina's lower belly. She can feel their pulses fall into sync and all at once, she's on the edge. 

An "I love you" slips past her lips, and Kristin squeezes her hand. 

They are completely fucked.

 

-

 

Afterwards, Kristin spreads herself out over the length of Idina's body and kisses her slow and deep until neither of them can breathe. She's fervently thorough, and there's no doubt why: this has to last them awhile. 

Kristin shifts a bit so she's half on top, half pressed to Idina's side, drawing gentle strokes up and down the length of Idina's arms, over her stomach and chest, tracing the line of her jaw. Idina has one hand cupping Kristin's face and the other curled possessively around her waist with no intention of letting go. They watch each other over the gentle thump of heartbeats as their breathing slows to normal, Kristin's eyes bright and swimming in chaos. 

"Say it," Idina says softly. 

"Say what?" 

"What you're thinking." 

"I'm thinking... a lot of things." 

"I want to know all of them."

Kristin swallows hard and sighs, slowly disentangling herself to lie on her back and stare at the ceiling. "In this order: I love you. We screwed up. I should go. This was amazing. This was a mistake. And... I still love you." 

Idina blinks away the sting behind her eyes. Not here. Not now. She won't. 

"I'm sorry," she says. 

"Don't be. I'm not." 

"But..." 

"But we can't do this again. We can't... relapse." 

"Okay." 

The silence is so thick Idina can hear ringing in her ears as she counts lines in the ceiling. She can't fix this. She can't make it better. And now she's teetering dangerously close to making it worse. This is something fragile enough that she could permanently fuck up. There could be a future where they never speak again, where she never gets to hug Kristin or even see her smile. 

She feels Kristin's hand inch across the sheet to hers until their pinky fingers curl together. 

"We'll be okay, right?"

"Yeah," Kristin says. "We'll be okay."

 

+++

 

**_2006_ **

 

London is another world. A beautiful, magical world far from the ones she knows. She takes the West End gig without an ounce of uncertainty, eager to doubly escape into Elphaba and foreign soil, both Ozian and European. The cast is delightful. The crew is a dream. They take her out to dinner, they put her up in sweet digs, they pay her well, and there's no one telling her when she's allowed to riff. It's the best decision she's made all year.

All things considered, it makes no sense to have a breakdown in her flat three days before opening night with a bottle of whisky and 80s teen cult classics. It makes no sense for her to be crying like someone fucking died, it makes no sense for her to drunk-dial Kristin when Kristin's in New York, after months without anything more than a text, and it makes no sense for Kristin not to hang up on her in the first ten seconds. 

Instead Kristin says, "You're drunk," and then, mostly to herself, "you're _really_ drunk." 

Of course, that only makes Idina cry harder and stupider, but she pulls herself together because damn it, she's got an objective here. She's got a reason. 

"I can't do this without you," she slurs, the phone plastered to her ear as she spreads the rest of her limbs over the cool slats of the hardwood floor. "Please. I can't. I need you here. It's not right without you." 

Kristin sighs. "You did it without me for a year, sweetie."

"It's different here! Everything's different. And the words! They have -- the words are different, and the theater, and they say things weird, and I'm so alone here and every time I try to walk around I get lost and I need you here because I'm never lost when I'm with you and, please, please just come, I just need you to _be_ here." 

"I can't, sweetie." 

"But just -- just for one night, okay? Not for -- not like _that_ , just be here and lie here and sleep with me 'cause I can't sleep, Kristi, I can't fucking _sleep_." 

Kristin's silent then, relating instantly, and the fact is, it's true. Idina hasn't slept more than four hours in a stretch since she got here. She wasn't letting herself acknowledge it, and she didn't tell anyone, because she couldn't afford to focus on it and it was sure to go away on its own. It hasn't. It's getting worse, and in seventy hours she's debuting a show to a sold-out house. 

"What do you mean you can't sleep?" Kristin asks softly. 

"I can't sleep. Sleep doesn't work here. It's like. Like I left sleep in New York but they won't ship it to me because the shipping costs are too high I think." 

"Are you doing your yoga?" 

"I don't have time."

"Then you need to see a doctor, honey. They can get you some pills." 

"I don't want pills, I just want you. Please? Just for one night. Please please be here. Please. I need you." 

"Honey, you're an ocean away. I can't just hop in the car." 

"You can hop in a plane." 

"No, I can't. I've got a schedule. I've got work." 

"You could be sick." 

"You could be outta your damn mind." 

"But you love me." 

Kristin sighs. "I love you." 

"Then you'll come?" 

"Deena. You want me to buy a plane ticket for... _tonight_?! Spend eight hours on a flight so I can lie there until your hungover ass falls asleep, and then fly home?" 

"Please?" 

"No!" 

Idina closes her eyes, letting the dizziness wash over her. She's going to start sobering up soon and it's going to hurt ten times worse when she does. 

"Kris. I know I'm crazy. I know this is stupid and I know I have no right to ask you this and I'll never ask you for anything ever again but please, just come, come stay here and lie with me for one night and maybe I'll sleep and then I can do this and everything will be okay." 

The line is silent. She's pretty sure Kristin's hung up. Kristin's never hung up on her before, but she probably deserves it now.

"Kris... are you there?" 

"Yeah.” Idina hears the clicks of a keyboard in the background. 

"What are you doing?" 

"I'm looking up flights."

 

-

 

Idina swings open the door. There's no -- there's no way. Kristin's actually here. In London. At seven o'clock the next day, as promised. She's real, in the flesh, four-eleven with her travel boots and black-rimmed glasses and, beneath the stuffy airplane aura, a hint of Light Blue. She is every ounce, every inch, every molecule the same, even when she’s not. 

Idina’s carefully constructing the perfect words when Kristin's jaw drops. 

"Are you _still drunk_?!" 

Oh, shit... that. 

"Not still!" Idina assures her, stumbling backwards a little to let Kristin through the door. "More like... again."

"Sweet Lord in heaven." Kristin sweeps into the room, dropping her suitcase at the foot of the bed and sitting down to unzip her boots.

"I didn't mean to!" Idina says, dropping to the bed beside her. "I had a couple shots to try and help the hangover but it didn't work so I took a couple more, only I hadn't eaten anything all day so it just kind of -- " 

" _Idina Menzel!_ " Kristin interrupts, one boot frozen in her hand as she leans in closer and sniffs. "You've been _smoking_!" 

Oh, shit... that too. 

"I'm _sorry_!" Idina cries, flopping back to the bed and rolling over on her stomach in woeful shame. 

"Where is it?" She looks up to see Kristin on her feet, rummaging about the room. "So help me god, woman..." 

"No no, there's nothing," Idina slurs a bit, pulling herself off the bed and finding her balance. "I swear, it was just one, I bummed it off the doorman." 

With hands planted sternly on her hips, Kristin's eyes roll so slowly, so dramatically up into her head that Idina has to bite her lip from smiling. Kristin's -- she's so _beautiful._ She's so magically blondely wonderfully perfect and small and beautiful and she's _here_. 

"You're here," Idina breathes, stepping closer. “You’re so, so pretty and you’re _here_.” 

"And not a minute too early, apparently." 

"Oh my god, you're _here_." Idina throws her arms around her. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_." 

Kristin squeezes back, then holds her at arm's length. "You smell like an ashtray fell into a barrel of moonshine, does your career have a death wish?" 

"Sorry. I was gonna shower but, but then I did the shots instead." 

"Well, get your tuckus in there and have at it," Kristin orders, pushing her towards the bathroom. "Drink two glasses of water before you get in. And if your teeth aren't brushed when you come out, you're sleepin' on the couch." 

Idina curls her fingers around the doorframe to steady herself, watching Kristin sprawl out on the bed, propping herself against the headboard and reaching for the TV remote. 

Idina smiles. "You're here." 

Kristin looks up, and after a moment, smiles back.

 

-

 

When Idina emerges in a cloud of steam, scrubbed, brushed, and hydrated, Kristin's got _Doctor Who_ on low volume while she scrolls through her phone. She's changed into black sleep shorts and, of all things, a faded _Wicked_ tank top that's just a little too big for her. In fact... 

Idina squints, slightly soberer from the shower. "Is that mine?!" 

Kristin glances at her, then at the shirt, and back up. "Mine now." 

"I've been looking for that for ages!" 

"Whoops." Kristin smiles, patting the bed beside her, and Idina crawls in eagerly, curling herself up against Kristin's side. She pillows her face on Kristin's left thigh and closes her eyes. It's the best she's felt in longer than she can remember. Kristin's skin is impeccably warm and smooth, and just a little darker than Idina remembers. She must have gotten outside more this summer. That's good. Or she's been to the salon, but Idina can scold her about skin cancer later. She can tell that Kristin cranked up the radiator, and she can smell tea brewing over on the table. Just like that, a random flat thousands of miles from New York feels like home. 

"Do I smell okay?" 

"Let's see." 

Kristin leans over as Idina lifts herself up a bit, and sniffs. 

"You smell like you again," Kristin says softly, reaching a hand up to trace over Idina's face. "You really aren't sleeping, are you?" 

Idina can feel the dark circles tugging under her eyes, knowing Kristin's spotted them. She shakes her head, and Kristin sighs, sitting back up and turning to the TV. Idina drops her head back to Kristin's leg and lets her heavy eyelids fall shut. Closing her eyes has become a trigger to activate every thought in her head, spinning them all into chaos until she's a sweat-soaked pile of anxiety twisted in the sheets. She braces herself for the tension, but instead, her muscles begin to melt as Kristin starts stroking through her hair, massaging her scalp. 

"Relax, baby. You're gonna be okay." 

"I don't wanna sleep yet." 

"You don't have to." 

"How was your flight?" 

"Fine. I watched _40-Year-Old Virgin_ on my laptop. I think I’m gonna marry Jane Lynch.” 

Idina smiles. "Know how I know you're gay?"

Kristin snorts.

"Are you hungry?" Idina asks. "Should we order something?" 

"Yeah. In a bit.” 

"Okay." 

"How's the team at the Apollo?" 

"So so good. I love them, they're so British and sweet and talented." 

"Good. How's Taye?" 

"Mm. He's fine." Idina shifts a little, draping an arm across Kristin's legs. "He wants kids." 

"Yeah, so what's new." 

"But like... he really wants it now." 

"Do you?" 

Idina chuckles. "Can you picture me as a mother?" 

"I think you'd make an incredible mother." 

"Do you want kids?"

"No." There's a moment of silence, then, "I don't think I do. I did. Maybe... with the right person, but... probably no." 

"What about with me?" 

"Um... that might put a little hitch in your marriage, sweetpea." 

"They'd be gorgeous. Wouldn't we make the most gorgeous kids? Like if -- if we could, like if science said we could, and we had kids, wouldn't they be pretty?" 

Kristin lets out a breath, carefully. "That they would." 

Idina rolls onto her back to look at her, lying sideways across the bed with her knees bent and her head still resting on Kristin's thigh. It's an odd angle, but Kristin looks perfect from any angle. 

"God, you're beautiful," Kristin says.  
  
Idina huffs. “That’s supposed to be my line.” 

Kristin watches her, the corners of her mouth curling up ever so slightly. Idina remembers this look. She remembers how Kristin's eyes go glassy and deep like she's simultaneously looking through Idina's soul and opening her own in return. It's the look that comes out in the dark, when they're alone without boundaries. It's the look before Kristin says _I love you_. 

Kristin swallows thickly, looking away. "Let your eyes rest, honey." 

Idina obliges, letting a few moments pass in darkness. "Would you sing for me?" 

"What do you want to hear?" 

"I don't know. You should write me a song." 

Kristin sighs softly. "I've already done that."

She'd almost forgotten. The chronology comes rushing back. 

(The email with a demo Kristin had written, _Would you mind if I put this on the album?_ and Idina couldn't bring herself to listen to it for two days. It was vague enough that no one would catch on, safe enough for Christian ears, but damn clear enough to her. Numbly, Idina had typed back, _I can't tell you what to put on your album._  

Then, the drunken message two months before the album's release, when Kristin had texted her to say she'd heard Journey on the radio and thought of her. Idina couldn't bring herself to respond, couldn't get it out of her head until the album came out with "Song Remembers When" planted smack dab in the middle. She didn’t know what was worse -- the fact that Kristin left out her own song, or that she replaced it with one equally telling. Idina remembers feeling guilty, heartbroken and then, in self-preservation, angry; how she thought about calling Kristin and demanding, irrationally, _How could you put us on an album?_ The lyrics weren't even Kristin's for Christ's sake, but Idina could hear it, could feel it in the way Kristin sang. She just fucking _knew_. 

She'd dialed twice but hung up before it could ring, fell onto the bed, and listened to it again.)

"I know," Idina says. "It was beautiful." 

"I didn't think you listened to it." 

"I did." 

"Were you angry?" 

"Yeah." 

"Why?" 

"I'm not sure. At first I was afraid people would know. Because I knew. Then I thought... honestly, who cares. Then I was angry because you were sad. Because I'd made you sad. I was angry at myself. I made you sad enough to write a song about it." 

"That's what we do when we're sad. We sing because we can't speak anymore."

"You weren't the only one who was sad." 

"I know."

"Would you write me a happy song?" 

"Right now?" 

"Mmhm." 

Kristin's silent as her fingers rub soft patterns against Idina's head. Then Idina hears her take a breath, and there's a smile in her voice as she starts to sing. 

"There's a girl who works in London... who is very inspirational."

Idina giggles. 

"She is very inspirational... because of many things. She called me at four-thirty... and I smiled and said, 'You're wasted.' When I smiled and said, 'You're wasted,' she just poured another drink."

The giggles turn into hysterics, and Kristin leans over to tickle her.

 

-

 

Idina wakes up at 4:36, according to the glaring crimson of the bedside clock. It's the longest she's slept in weeks. It's still dark out and the space beside her on the bed is empty. That's the first thing she notices.

The second thing is that Kristin is knelt by the bed, her palms pressed together, eyes closed. Idina holds her breath, trying to catch the barely-whispered words formed on Kristin's lips. 

"Please," she hears. "Give her strength. Give her peace. Please, Father. Let her remember how amazing and capable she is. How wonderful you've made her. Let her remember she is loved." 

Through the sleepy haze, Idina doesn't know what to feel. There's a surge of affection and gratitude. A tinge of jealousy, wishing she were lucky enough for faith to find her. The ubiquitous self-doubt, wondering how this incredible woman could love her as she does. And somewhere beneath it all, safely tucked away, is love, because she can't remember ever not loving her. 

She observes Kristin silently until as she finishes and finally opens her eyes. She only looks surprised to see Idina awake for a second, but she doesn’t look away. 

Idina reaches out, grasping at Kristin's shoulder to pull her back to the bed. Kristin obliges, climbing up and hovering close, propped up on her elbow. Her hair falls down over Idina's neck, tickling the top of her chest, and before she can stop herself, Idina's curling a hand around Kristin’s neck and easing her down, so slow it could be mistaken for gravity. When their noses touch, she waits. 

"I'll stop. I'll stop if you want. This isn't why I asked you to come." 

"Are you sober?" 

"Yeah." 

Kristin kisses the life out of her. 

It's slow, slower than it's been in a long time. Maybe it's the foreign country, maybe it's the fog of early morning, when time feels suspended. They kiss and kiss for ages, until Idina can't hold out and gently guides Kristin onto her back. But she still takes her time, kissing her breathless until clothes become too much of a hindrance to ignore. She gets rid of the stolen shirt first, taking a moment to memorize the intoxicating sight of Kristin's breasts before slipping lower, working off her shorts in one slow slide only to discover there’s nothing underneath. 

She quirks an eyebrow, and Kristin blushes. 

“Well prepared, Cheno.”

“I was a Girl Scout.”  
  
“Yeah, and I was a nun.”  
  
Kristin smiles, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. 

"Fuck, I've missed this," she breathes against Kristin's skin as she kisses her way up over her knees, along silky smooth thighs that spread open under her touch. "And this..." She swipes her tongue over a hipbone, Kristin's gasp sending a jolt of electricity straight between her legs. "And _these_ ," she adds, taking one breast in her hand and the other in her mouth, tongue swirling over the nipple. "My god, I love these." 

Kristin laughs softly, dragging her nails lightly over Idina's back. "You and the rest of the world, sugar." 

"To hell with the rest of the world," and they're kissing again. 

She can't remember who comes first, second, or last, or much of what happens in between. In the end it's a delicious blur of limbs, mouths, the wave of their bodies moving together, their own language of incoherent encouragement, uninhibited moans and one shuddering release after another. Dawn's come and gone by the time they collapse in each other's arms, spent, panting and dizzy. 

Idina tucks her face into Kristin's shoulder, pressing herself closer against Kristin's back and tightening her arms around the tiny torso. 

“Please,” she whispers. 

"Please what?" 

"Don't regret this." 

Kristin presses back into her, turning her head to brush their cheeks together, and squeezes Idina's arms beneath her own. "I couldn't." 

As morning creeps relentlessly up on them, Idina considers breakfast. She wants to take Kristin to her new personal heaven known as Creme de la Crepe but she knows they can't go anywhere, can't risk it, and suddenly, the impossibility of everything she wants begins to descend around them, twisting them up in their own tangled web. She can't go out for breakfast with the woman she loves. They can't go shopping at Covent Garden. They can't eat lunch by the river or ride the Eye at sunset, and Kristin can't come to opening night. 

They are not a couple. They have never been a couple. They are this, only this -- the ghosts of part-time lovers hidden from the world for reasons that are all too easy to forget when Kristin's lying naked in her arms. 

 _You can't have everything._  

Idina clutches her tighter. "What time do you have to leave?" 

"Cab's picking me up at 8." 

Idina glances at the clock. Two hours. 

"Did you sleep?" Kristin asks, and Idina nods. "Good." 

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome." 

Idina looks at the clock again before she can stop herself. "Kris." 

"Mm." 

"Can you stay?" 

She feels Kristin tense against her. "No." 

"Not even... for..." 

She trails off, feeling helpless. There's no point. Kristin's getting in a cab in two hours and that's that. This is all they get. This is what they chose. No. This is what Idina chose, when Kristin was ready to give her everything.  
  
“Kris.” 

Kristin pulls her closer and says, "One of us has to do the right thing."

 

+++


	5. Chapter 5

There are texts, rare and carefully crafted to keep open the lines of communication. They'll tweet at each other now and then, but that's for the fans. The texts are theirs. Lose the foundation, keep the bond. A bond in fragments, maybe, but they add up.

 

-

 

**_2007_ **

 

_I finally saw the rent movie_

_Did you now?_

_Love Rosie but not the same without itty bitty Daphne!_  

 _Yeah yeah what about ME, jeez_  

 _You gave me a lady boner ;)_  

_Wasn’t the first time ;)_

 

_-_

 

**_2009_ **

 

_I read your book. Loved it._

_Really? That means a lot._  

_Also thank you_

_For what?_  

 _I don’t know… discretion maybe?_  

 _What did ya expect? “Sooo Dee I wrote a book that describes what you look like naked in exquisite detail, hope that’s cool”_  

 _And what would that description have sounded like?_  

 _Some things are too good for words ;)_  

 _Safe to assume I left you speechless?_  

 _If you didn’t know how vocal I am I’d say yes_  

_:)_

 

_-_

 

**_2010_ **

 

 _I just saw you sing les mis on glee_  

 _Was it ok?_  

 _I’m in tears_  

 _That bad huh_  

 _Stop. You were a dream_  

 _Feels like you were too_  

 _Been awhile huh?_  

_Yeah. It was always a good dream though._

 

+++

 

**_2011_ **

 

 _I keep forgetting to tell you_ , _I've got a permanent LA address now._  

She adds the address and hits send, trying to make it feel like every other text she'd sent to her family, all her closest friends, after they'd bought the house. Just an update. A new place to send holiday cards. Wedding invites. Whatever. 

She sends it to Kristin a year late. It's hard to make it feel like anything less than another transparent invitation. 

 _I heard_ , Kristin writes back. _First a kid and now a house... here's to you Mrs. Suburbia ;)_  

 _Shut up,_ _my house is awesome!_  

 _Well I imagine so, maybe one day you'll invite me over to see it_  

Idina stares at the words, a sharp burst of laughter escaping her throat. The subtle invitation, feebly veiled. Nothing's changed. How is it everything and nothing can change? Like the feeling you get when you realize you're 39, your skin doesn't sit quite the same way on your body but sometimes you still feel 23 and you still remember in vivid detail the kitten you got for your fifth birthday. The way we tend to see our past and future selves as separate beings, and the jarring realization that they're not. They're just us on a different day, in a different city, with different desires -- but us. Still us. And in the end, maybe we don’t really change all that much. 

For the first time in a million years, Idina calls her, nestling the phone between her ear and shoulder as she examines the spread of ingredients on the counter. 

"Hello?"

"Hey." 

She hears Kristin exhale slowly. "Hey." 

"Whatchya doin'?" 

"Right now?" 

"Yeah."

"I..." Kristin laughs a little. "I can't tell you." 

"Why not?" 

"It's embarrassing!" 

"...Oh _really_." 

"Oh my god, not like _that._ " 

"Then what?" 

Kristin sighs. "I just opened a bottle of wine..." 

"Hell yeah, girl." 

"...to kick off the _Teen Mom_ marathon." 

Idina laughs so hard she almost drops the teaspoon of salt balanced precariously in her hand. Quickly, she deposits it into the mixing bowl and reaches for the baking soda. "Is it good wine, at least?" 

"I don't know. Usually people just give me wine. But I bought this myself... I don't know..." 

Idina can picture her squinting at the label over her glasses, trying to evaluate its quality solely from the logo and font, and it’s adorable.

"This is nice. Talking. To you." 

"Yeah. It is." Kristin's voice is soft, but alert. Idina knows the wine hasn't been touched. "Why don't we do this more often?"

Idina shrugs, tapping a cup of flour into the bowl. "Because we've got this weird idea that we can't be friends because we had a lot of sex once." 

"A _lot_ of sex."

" _All_ the sex, Cheno." 

There's no sound, but she's pretty sure Kristin's smiling. It may not be true, it wasn’t about the sex, but it’s a lot easier to pretend it was. If they can pretend long enough, it might even turn into the truth. 

"You bought into it, didn't you?" Kristin asks after a moment. 

"What?" 

"When everyone thought we hated each other. You started to believe it." 

"In a way... that was easier. Y’know?"  
  
“Mm.” 

It’s a little surprising to realize it doesn't matter what they talk about, what long-gone skeletons they haul out of the closet. It's so far in the past it scarcely matters now. 

"Hey.”  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“If you feel like sharing your marathon wine and you can stand to miss a few episodes... you could come keep me company." 

"What are you doing?" 

"Baking."  
  
“Uh… should I bring the bong or the rolling papers?”  
  
“Cookies, you spaz.”

"Where are your beautiful boys?" 

"Taye took him home to his family for the weekend. But I'm here, I've gotta work tomorrow." 

"You miss your baby?" 

"God, Kris, I miss the living shit out of him. Like... literally. I miss him so much I actually miss changing his diapers." 

"That's equally disgusting and precious." 

Idina smiles. "So..." 

"So." 

"I've got a fancy wine glass here with your name on it." 

"All right, all right, I'm coming."

 

-

 

Kristin’s hand claps over her mouth the moment Idina swings open the door. “Shit, I forgot the wine.”  
  
“Good to see you too,” Idina smiles, lifting her into a hug that puts air beneath Kristin’s feet. She feels the same, smells the same, sends the same dizzy flutter down Idina’s spine, and Idina wonders why she ever expects anything else. 

She takes a couple steps back inside, depositing Kristin gently on the floor before swinging the door shut and taking a last peek at the darkening sky. “Looks like the apocalypse out there.” 

“Must be, if we’re actually hanging out.” Idina smacks her on the hip and Kristin yelps, leaping back. “You’ve got flour on your face.” 

“You know the goods taste better if you get a little messy.”  
  
Kristin raises an eyebrow. “I do indeed.” 

Lightning pulses through the window, followed by a magnificent crackle of thunder. The women watch each other, eyebrows high and eyes wide, fighting against laughter.  
  
Kristin bites her lip. “Guess we’ve still got that spark.”  
  
Idina grins and turns away, heading toward the kitchen. “You’re very cute but I’m not gonna have sex with you because I actually want to see you _smiling_ when you go home.” 

“I’m offended.” 

“I knew you would be.” 

“Well, it’s been, what… seven years, minus a few one-nighters? Seems like enough time to learn how to resist my charms.” 

“Not enough to resist mine, though.” 

Kristin snorts as they reach the kitchen, hoisting herself up onto a countertop. “What charms?”  
  
“Hey!” Idina points a wooden spoon at her, which Kristin promptly grabs. “I have _moves_.” 

“Please. If it weren’t for me jumping your ass on opening night…” 

“Well I couldn’t exactly jump _yours_ , shorty.”  
  
“Mm. Touche.” Kristin licks a glob of dough off the end of the spoon. “Your house is gorgeous, I’m moving in.”  
  
“We’ve got two spare bedrooms.” 

“Perfect. One for me, one for the shoes.” 

Amused, Idina watches her drop the spoon into the sink and lift a cookie from the cooling rack. 

“Are you gonna help?” 

“You already have cookies, why are you making more?” 

“Because you’re eating them all!”

“Ugh, _one_! You’re so stingy.” 

“Hey, I’m Jewish.”

Kristin laughs, loud and free, tossing her head back as she hops down and picks up a fresh spoon, stirring a pile of dry ingredients in the bowl as Idina pours in the liquids. 

“I listened to your new album,” Idina says. “It’s amazing.”  
  
“Really? Thank you.” 

“You sound surprised.”  
  
“A little.”  
  
“Why do you always think I don’t listen to your music?” 

“I don’t know.”  
  
“Do you think I’ll be mad if there’s a song about me?”  
  
“How do you know it’s about you?”  
  
Idina’s hand stills, a ball of dough resting in her palm as she tries to forget the first time she heard “Mine to Love.” She turns, fixing Kristin with a look that states in no uncertain terms, _Bitch please_. 

Kristin rolls her eyes, caught. 

“Kris, I don’t mind. It hurts. But that’s why we do this. That’s why we put it to music. So it hurts a little less.” 

“Like you did with ‘Forever’?”

Idina swallows, the words caught in her throat.

“Didn’t think I listened to yours either, did you?” 

Idina sighs, turning back to the dough. “We’re dumb.”

“Yep.” 

Kristin helps her roll little bits of dough into balls, pressing them gently to the cookie sheet. Their hands get caught in the bowl more than once, but they’ve got years of practice keeping their eyes on the work. They focus on symmetry, even spacing, consistency in size and shape, wordlessly following each other’s cues. When Idina finally bends down to slide the sheet into the oven, the result is perfection. 

“We do good work.” 

“Always have.” 

She pulls herself up, looks at Kristin and stifles a giggle. A powdery trail of white streaks down from Kristin’s cheek to her lip. 

“You’ve got -- “ 

Without thinking, she steps forward into Kristin’s space in the way she used to when their space belonged to each other. She reaches a hand up to swipe gently down Kristin’s face, brushing the flour away. Too late she realizes Kristin’s backed up against the sink and their hips are aligned, barely touching. Her brain entertains a fleeting thought of stopping, but she ignores it, letting her hand linger as she traces the familiar lines. There are a few more, now, and L.A. has bronzed the skin she remembers, but it’s still there. It’s all still there. 

Her finger catches on Kristin’s lower lip, and their eyes meet. She can feel Kristin’s breath on her face as it struggles to even out. 

Idina remembers to smile. “Told you I’ve got moves.” 

She pushes herself away, leaving Kristin frozen to the spot, and starts gathering items for cleanup when a puff of white powder hits her in the face. Idina feigns shock, turning to see Kristin with a devilish grin and half a handful of flour. 

“You little -- “ 

Kristin braces herself with one hand on the counter, ready to bolt, as Idina digs into the flour herself. Kristin pounces, jumping forward to grab Idina’s wrist before it can fling anything, but the impact sends the flour in all directions.  
  
“Your fault!” Idina laughs, breathless, grabbing Kristin’s other wrist with her spare hand. “You did this!” 

Kristin laughs, coughing through the cloud of white and pushing forward until Idina’s the one pinned to the counter, and Kristin’s hips aren’t just there. They’re pressing. Hard.

There’s not much they can accomplish like this, each of them claiming a wrist with tightly curled fingers, while the maze they’ve trapped themselves in has rapidly narrowed into a one-way street. 

Kristin’s so close Idina can smell the chocolate on her lips as she stretches up on her tiptoes to even out their heights. Her grip falters, just for a moment before tightening with renewed conviction. Idina mirrors the gesture, letting her nails press into the delicate skin on the underside of Kristin’s wrist, and Kristin’s eyelids flutter, her pupils blown. 

“Shit,” Kristin breathes.

“Fucking kiss me.”

Their fingers loosen, freeing wrists and fighting to explore while their mouths launch the assault. Kristin’s hands are focused intently on the button and zipper of Idina’s jeans, roughly working them open until she gets a decent grip and yanks them down. By the time Idina stumbles out of them, Kristin’s already wrestled her way inside Idina’s panties, shoving them out of the way just enough to slip three fingers inside. They’re small and slender as ever but it’s too much too soon and Idina gasps, her hands grabbing hold of Kristin’s shoulders, half to steady herself and half to keep Kristin in place. 

Kristin doesn’t waste any time thrusting deep and curling her fingers, her thumb circling over the center, and Idina’s already close. This isn’t meant to last. This is meant to fill the void for a little while. 

Her body curls over as she comes, her head dropping to the crook of Kristin’s neck, teeth digging into soft muscle as Kristin brings her down. It elicits a gasp, a single sound marking the last break in Kristin’s control. 

Idina’s legs are practically jello as she wrestles to reverse their positions, backing Kristin into the counter and lifting her up. Kristin helps, scooting to the edge as Idina shoves her dress out of the way without finesse. If Kristin wants rough, she’ll get it. She’s so wet already, _always_ , every time -- practically dripping by the time Idina touches her, but no matter how many times, how many years, it still sends a white-hot shiver down Idina’s spine. 

“Look at me,” Idina orders, slowing her hand until Kristin’s eyes open. “Stay with me.”  
  
She’s not sure why it’s suddenly important, why it matters so much that they admit to doing this, but Kristin keeps her eyes open. Kristin takes unwanted direction with defiance, performing flawlessly just to remind you why you want her. Her eyes stay focused until Idina crashes forward to kiss her, her fingers swiftly targeting all of Kristin’s sweetest spots, inside and out. She comes before Idina’s ready to be done with her, crying out in a tone that sounds almost apologetic. 

It takes a few moments, after, to process the tangle of their bodies. Even in the awkward position, with Kristin teetering on the edge of the counter, their bodies are nearly flush. Idina’s hand stills inside her, but she leaves it there, riding out the aftershocks. Kristin’s arms have encircled Idina’s neck, their faces pressed to one another’s shoulders, with Idina’s free hand wrapped tightly around Kristin’s back. 

It’s less than a minute before she feels Kristin start to stir. Idina tightens her arm. 

“Please,” she breathes into Kristin’s neck.  
  
“What?”

“Please don’t pull away yet. Please let me hold you. Just for a minute.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Why?” 

Kristin starts to detangle them, pulling herself straight and slowly lowering herself from the counter, finding her balance. The cookie timer ticks away, ten minutes left. 

Kristin takes a few breaths, smoothing down her dress and running a hand through her hair.  
  
“Why?” Idina repeats. 

Finally, Kristin looks at her. 

“Because,” she says. “Every time we do this... every minute I'm with you, part of me... breaks. I know for you it's -- it's whenever you need a fix, whenever you're mad at him, whenever you miss the past, whenever you need someone to make you come so hard you see stars. But it's different for me.” 

Idina feels something hot bubble up inside her. “How could you… that’s _not_ what it is for me!” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kristin sighs, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. “Eight years… you’ve been married eight years and we still -- Idina, this is _fucked up._ ” 

“Fine. Then stop. Don’t see me. Next time I invite you, don’t come.” 

“God, I'm _trying_! Don't you know I _try_? I try so damn hard, and I can't! I _can't_ say no to you. I try every time and I _can't_! I try to forget you, I've been trying to forget you for ten years and I _can't._ ” 

Idina freezes. “You want to forget me?”  
  
“Oh my god, it’s all about you, isn’t it? Like _you’re_ the damn victim! Don’t you get that every time we do this it just brings everything boiling back to the surface -- all the memories, all the pain. I'm trying to forget and you make it impossible! I tried getting over you and I couldn't, so then I tried forgetting and that's not working either. Don’t you _get it_?” 

“No. I’d rather be in pain the rest of my life than forget you.” 

“That's fucking great, sweetheart, but for some of us, remembering hurts worse than forgetting. When you miss me, you've got someone else to fall asleep with. I _don't_. I get to lie there alone wondering if the pills are gonna kick in tonight, and think about you on the other side of the country, or worse, twenty miles away and know you're with _him_ , that he's the one kissing you and not me. Damn it, Idina, why do you think I do 'For Good' at every concert with someone else, _someone who's not you_?! Because I'm trying to _forget_! I'm trying to forget what it was like to look into your eyes and sing to you and know it could never be more than that!” 

“Maybe it could’ve!” Idina snaps, surprising herself. “Maybe… if you’d given me time… maybe…” 

“Maybe what? You would’ve left him? Really?” 

Idina shakes her head, curling in on herself and losing the nerve. “I -- I don’t. I don’t know.” 

“You wouldn’t. You still wouldn’t. And even if you did, we’d probably screw it up anyway.”  
  
“God damn it, Kristin, that is so unfair!”

“You wanna talk unfair? Let’s talk about how we can’t even be in the same room without you taking advantage of the fact that I can’t fucking say no to you!” 

Idina steps back and hits the edge of the stove, sick to her stomach. They’ve made it all these years without Kristin calling her out on it that Idina never realized how far the guilt had spread.

“Then why,” she says, her voice low. “Why do you keep coming back. Why do you answer my texts and come and fuck me, _every time_.” 

“You know why.” 

Idina stares at the floor as the smell of cookies rises up from the oven behind her. The door handle is warm under her fingers, almost too warm. Outside, the thunder rumbles up again, softly. 

“Still?” 

“Dee… _always_.” 

Her eyes meet Kristin’s, but there’s nothing there. They’ve come full circle, or, they’ve dead-ended. It’s hard to tell. Either way, whatever road they travel down next will be one they’ve been down before. This is as far as they go. As far as they’ll ever. 

Suddenly, Kristin looks exhausted. 

Idina feels the tears spring to her eyes. “Me too.” 

Kristin’s face shifts, her features contorting. This was obviously the wrong confession to make. 

“What do you know about love?” she hisses. “You've cheated on the man you supposedly love a hundred times! You want to know something? I never cared if anyone found out. I never cared if our cover was blown. I didn't care what people would've said about me. I still don't. I _hated_ lying and hiding and protecting. The only reason I did it was for you. For your sake. For your career, your marriage, your reputation. So you wouldn't be labeled and judged. So you wouldn't be forced to be someone you weren't ready to be. It was for you, Dee. I wanted to scream it from the rooftops, but I kept it in. _That_ was love.” 

She’s gathered her shoes and purse before Idina even realizes she’s leaving, and by the time she can react, the front door’s already slamming. She can hear the Lexus rev up, the tires screeching on her driveway, and the motor fading into the rainfall as Kristin speeds off.

 

-

 

The path from Kristin’s driveway to her front door is too fucking long. Idina’s drenched and shivering by the time she rings the doorbell, her feet slippery against the wet rubber of her flip flops. She wraps her arms around herself, thankful for remembering to put on a bra. She thinks she hears Maddie barking in defense behind the door, but the rain’s so loud she can’t be sure. 

Kristin swings open the door, surveying her from head to toe.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Idina says. 

She waits for Kristin to slam the door or to bring her inside. Instead, she steps over the threshold into the downpour, unreactive, and pulls Idina into her arms.

Idina breaks down, letting hot tears fuse with the dirty L.A. rain. Kristin stands a step above her, their shoulders aligning, arms wrapping each other in tight circles.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she says against smooth, wet skin. “I’m so fucking sorry. For everything. You’re the last person I ever want to hurt.” 

A zig-zag of lighting forks across the sky, and Kristin pulls her inside. For a minute, they stand there in the foyer, dripping onto the rug, unable to move.  
  
“It’s late. You shouldn’t be driving in this.” 

It’s stupid. It’s stupid that Kristin knows that Idina has the world’s worst night vision. It’s stupid that she knows all the things that partners are supposed to know. It’s stupid that even now, that’s what Kristin would be concerned about. 

“We have to try,” Idina says. “We have to be friends. Can we? We have to try, right?” 

Kristin stares at her, unreadable, considering. 

“We’ll try.”

 

-

 

The rain falls harder. Kristin doesn’t let her drive home. She sets her up with dry clothes and lays out a folded towel in the guest suite. Idina dries herself off, changes, and climbs into the stiff, cold sheets. It’s the first night she’s spent here outside of Kristin’s bedroom. 

Just before midnight, Kristin pokes her head through the door. 

“You okay?” 

Idina nods. 

Kristin wavers in the doorway a moment, leaning in a little further, then retreating. Finally she steps through, padding over to the bed and sprawling out on the empty half. Together, they watch the rain through the skylight overhead. 

“I shouldn’t have said it,” Kristin says into the silence. 

Boldly, Idina reaches across the mattress, fumbling to find her hand. 

“I know you do,” Kristin says. 

“What?” 

“I know you love me.” 

“I’m shit at it.” 

Kristin curls their fingers together. “I know you love me.”

 

-

 

**_2013_ **

 

When they shoot _Wicked_ 's tenth anniversary spot for Entertainment Weekly, the photographer asks them to sit on a pair of stools and look like they have a ten-year-old secret. It takes Idina every shred of restraint not to roll her eyes and snap, _Well **that'll** be a challenge._ 

Kristin gives her a private, for-your-eyes-only smile in reassurance while he adjusts a softbox, and Idina's stomach flutters as stupidly as it ever did. She's catching a flight right after the shoot and she barely had time to hug Kristin hello before they were whisked off to the hair team, so today, this is all they get. Two hours and a dozen other people and no chance to make any new secrets. 

"You look beautiful," Kristin tells her, and Idina blushes right through her camera makeup. Ten-year-old secrets indeed. 

When the first flash goes off, all she can think to do is slide her hand over Kristin's thigh. She expects her to tense, maybe even pull away, but without missing a beat, Kristin's hand covers hers, holding it in place.

 

+++

 

 _Saw your Disney interview..._  

 _You stalkin me Cheno? :)_  

 _I see you’ve left me for the younger cuter Kris ;)_  

 _Bell? Younger maybe...cuter, no way_  

 _xo_  

_Only one Kris ever got my heart._

 

+++

 

**_2014_ **

 

“Just so you know,” Kristin says, flipping on the turn signal and tossing a glance over her shoulder, “this isn’t a booty call. I just wanted to see you.” 

“Consider my booty uncalled for.” 

Kristin grins at her sideways and bats at her with one hand. Booty call or not, Idina grabs it and holds it in her lap, cradling it between both her own.

“What did I j _ust say_ ,” Kristin sighs, feigning exasperation. 

“I can hold your hand if I want. I sing Oscar-winning songs now.” 

“Oh lordy, you ain’t lettin’ that go for awhile, I can tell.” 

“It’s been like four hours, gimme at least a night!” 

Kristin smiles, meeting her eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”

Idina squeezes her hand.

 

-

 

“Are you sweating champagne yet or did the buzz wear off?” Kristin asks as they stumble through her front door, kicking off shoes in the darkness. Idina finds the light by memory, sliding her hand up the wall until it catches on the switch and they’re bathed a low, warm glow. 

“I could have something,” Idina calls from the foyer as Kristin digs around the kitchen. “Room service brought me two cups of coffee so I’m a little edgy.” 

Maddie bounds in to greet her and Idina squeals, bending over to give and receive kisses before Kristin calls Maddie over to let her out into the backyard. It takes a moment to notice that Kristin’s rearranged the space. Her piano’s still standing majestic in the adjoining room, but the sofa’s facing the other way. Her eyes seek out familiar things -- Kristin’s favorite purse in a chair. Her inhaler on the table by the door. The collection of photos on the mantel. A few are different, but _Wicked_ ’s opening night is still there. 

She spots a man’s jacket over one of the chairs before Kristin sweeps into the room, scooping it up and hanging it in the closet. 

Idina giggles. “What are you doing? I know his name for god’s sake.”  
  
“I know but it’s _weird._ ” 

“Weird…” 

“I just didn’t want you to feel like there was someone else here.” 

She sits down with their glasses, placing the bottle in the center of the coffee table. Some things never change, and some never should.  
  
Idina raises her glass. “Shall we?”  
  
“Oh -- wow, I just realized we never toast. We’re so uncivilized!”  
  
“I know, right?” 

Kristin lifts her glass. “Do you want to…”  
  
“No, go for it.” 

“No, no, I’m really bad at these. The only one I remember is from college -- ‘To the kisses we’ve snatched, and vice versa.’” 

Idina nearly drops her glass, doubling over in silent laughter.  
  
“I told you! Do not let me toast, woman.” 

“Okay -- okay,” Idina braces herself with a hand on the edge of the seat cushion, sitting upright and clearing her throat. “How about… to a lifetime of firsts, and the lessons in each.” 

Kristin smiles. Their glasses clink, each taking a generous sip.

“Oh my god.” Kristin sets down her glass. “I haven’t hugged you yet.” 

She flings herself across the couch and Idina catches her, holding her as close as she dares. It’s a little awkward with both of them seated but Kristin feels so good, so warm and alive that it doesn’t matter. 

“I’m glad you’re here.”  
  
“Me too.”

“All right, if you don’t show me a million pictures of Walker right now I’m kicking you out.” 

Idina smiles and whips out her phone. She loads the camera roll and lets Kristin scroll through it herself, interjecting captions and context as Kristin grins broadly, cooing in a register Idina’s pretty sure only Maddie can hear. 

“He’s in pre-K now,” Idina points at a classroom behind Walker’s poofy crown of hair. “And he’s picking up the worst language! My four-year old said _shit_ , Kris. The books don’t prepare you for that.” 

“Something tells me he’s not getting that from pre-K.”  
  
“Bitch.” 

“Case in point.” She gets to the picture of him asleep with the cats. “Dee, he’s _perfect_.”  
  
“He is, isn’t he?”

Kristin pauses at the selfie Idina took with him on New Year’s with a spectacle of fireworks behind them. Idina watches her thumb hover over the photo, her face softening. 

“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” 

Idina pokes her side. “I’m right here, y’know.” 

“Yeah, but if I look at you I’d have to kiss you.” 

Idina’s heart skips a beat as Kristin swipes to the next photo. They’ve gone far enough back that Taye’s still around, showing up every few pictures, and Idina holds out her hand. Kristin gives the phone back.

“Did you ever tell him? About us?” 

“I didn’t trust him not to tell anyone else.” Idina downs another liberal gulp from her glass. “But he knew.”  
  
“...Seriously? Are you sure?”  
  
“He told me. At the end, before he left. Or rather… he asked. ‘Just wanted to know,’ he said. I couldn’t lie to him. I’ve never seen someone so unsurprised in my life.” 

Kristin stares at her, eyes wide. To firsts, indeed. 

Idina smiles. “And I wonder why my marriage failed, right?” 

“Dee… no…” 

“It’s okay. Anyway, he told me he wouldn’t tell my secrets if I wouldn’t tell his, and I’ve got way too much dirt on him.” 

“I didn’t tell anyone either. Well… my therapist.” 

It’s Idina’s turn for a taste of panic, her fingers tightening around the glass. “Your therapist knows about me?”

“Relax, she doesn’t know your name. Just… ‘someone I used to work with.’” 

Idina smiles. “Tell me about your therapist.”

“Ugh, no!”

“Yes!” 

Kristin sighs and looks away, laughing to herself. “If she knew you were here she’d slap me.”

“Oh god, I’m like your therapy villain. I’m the ‘root cause’.” 

“You wish.” 

“I am, aren’t I? You’re not even supposed to be seeing me.”

“I’m not supposed to be seeing _anyone_. Dana’s just… easy. He reminds me that dating can be easy.”

Idina lowers her eyes, picking at a thread on her yoga pants. “That’s good.” 

She feels Kristin’s eyes on her, studying hard. 

“Oh my god, you’re jealous.” 

“No! What? No, that’s -- that’s -- “

“Oh, you _are_!” Kristin giggles. “It’s so cute!” 

“Oh jeez, stop! Yes, I am, are you happy? I’m finally single and you’re dating some… some… sleazy producer.”

Kristin laughs harder. “He is not sleazy!” 

Idina descends into a pout, refusing to look up. “It just sounds better to call a producer sleazy.”

“God, you’re adorable.” 

“Stop.”

Kristin touches her hand. “This is a good thing, you realize that. If we were both single I’d be your rebound and that would be _awful_.” 

Idina considers it, looking down at their hands, and turns her palm up, curling their fingers together. 

“I wanted to marry you, y'know,” she says. “Sometimes I'd think about it. Just... living in a different world where it was just us. I thought maybe we'd do it in the Caribbean or something cliche like that. Or maybe on stage at the Gershwin. Something that meant something to us. I thought about what our dresses would look like. What kind of rings we'd get. Jesus, why am I telling you this.” 

She sighs, pressing her face into her palms. There is not enough wine in the world. 

“You -- “ Kristin’s voice hitches. “You thought about that?” 

“Yeah. Sometimes.” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Idina nods. 

“Why didn't you leave him when I asked you to?” 

Idina smiles. Like she hasn’t been asking herself for years. 

“All the reasons are stupid now. I was really scared. Scared it wouldn’t work, that you’d stop wanting me. I knew your relationships. I knew what happened. I thought you'd get tired of me, or we'd fuck it up somehow. It was just too big a risk. And I loved him -- I did, I always did, I still do. We’d been together forever and I just couldn’t imagine him not being there. Thought I’d never have to.” She looks down, running her thumb over the back of Kristin’s hand. “It wasn't the first wrong decision I ever made. Or the last.” 

“It wasn’t the wrong decision. If you'd left him, Walker wouldn't exist.” 

“You’re right. I don’t regret it. But losing you was the highest price I could ever pay for that.” 

She’s seen sad in Kristin’s eyes more times than she ever wanted to, but this is something else. Something new. Another first. 

“Would… would you have ever wanted kids?” 

Kristin shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, I used to love the idea, a long time ago. But… I think… mothering's just not in me.” 

“What about... now? If it were... if we... I mean, not that you'd…” 

“You're asking if I'd ever consider being a third parent to your son? Move back to New York to restart a decade-old affair, and you throw a kid into the mix now, and -- hell, I’m still trying to get off meds.” She laughs, a little hollow. “And _you_ \-- sweetheart, you haven't been single for almost two decades. You need to be by yourself for a good long while. You need to rediscover who you are without a relationship taking up so much of your identity.” 

“Is that therapy talk?” 

“Maybe. But it's true.” 

Idina stares at their hands, trying to make sense of it. 

“I just. I thought you wanted this. All these years -- this is what you -- “ 

“I did,” Kristin says quietly. “I _do_. _God_ , I do. But -- it was different then. I was so far gone, I wanted you at any cost, to hell with the consequences. The truth is… when you leave one relationship for another... a _marriage_ , especially... that relationship isn't born from a healthy place. It's born of chaos and instability and pretty much guaranteed to fail.” 

“But now... it's not like that. I didn't leave him for you. I left for me. And for Walker.” 

“Exactly. And that's what you need to focus on. Being you, on your own. Being his mom. Relearning who you are without someone else fogging up your sense of self. Learning the parts of yourself that led to the relationship's end. Learning who you need to be for the next person who comes along.”

Idina looks up at her, only one answer on her lips. After all this time, the least she owes Kristin is honesty. 

“I want it to be you.” 

Kristin swallows hard, watching her for a long minute. “You have no idea how hard it is not to just grab hold of you right now and not let go.” 

“I think I do.” 

Kristin sighs. “The thing is… you get older and you realize love really doesn't conquer all, it’s just a prerequisite. God's shown me I still have a ways to go before I can make a real relationship work. And you've got even further. Dee, we can’t… we can’t _practice_ on each other. We deserve better than that.” 

“I know.” 

“That doesn't mean I won't still be in love with you every damn day for the rest of my life.” 

God damn it. 

“I know.” 

Kristin swipes her tears away before they can fall, laughing softly. “You know, we haven’t even thought of what it would really be like. I love L.A. and you hate it. I’ve barely been around kids more than a day in my life. There’s nothing I suck at more than relationships -- nothing. If it doesn't work, then what? After everything else, could we handle that? There’d be nothing left. We'd never speak again.”

Idina focuses idly on the wall over the mantle. There’s a new clock. She’s sick of new.

Kristin squeezes her hand. “Not all soulmates make good roommates, sweetpea.” 

“It could be different. With us.”

“It could. Maybe, it could.”

“Or, y’know… shit, we’re so different, we might just go crazy and try to kill each other.”

“We really might. And we’d go to prison, and you'd be the badass butch who gives everyone shitty tattoos and makes sex slaves out of the little ones, and I'd be -- “ 

“You'd be one of the little ones!” 

“I _would_!” 

“What, you don't want to be my sex slave?”

Kristin smiles coyly. “I never said that.” 

Idina stares at the clock again. It’s pretty. It reminds her of -- holy shit, it is. A perfect replica of the Time Dragon. 

She smiles to herself. Maybe new and old aren’t mutually exclusive. 

Kristin nudges her. “Did you ever read the fanfic about us?” 

“Oh, yeah. Norbert still sends me links when he thinks I’m in a crap mood.” 

“Me too!” 

“Seriously?! That’s insane.” 

“He probably wrote every single one.”

Idina laughs. “Isn’t it crazy? And he never… our best friends never knew. But half the Internet figured it out.” 

“Lucky guess. And I don't cry nearly as much as they think I do.” 

“Psh.”

“Hey!” 

Idina smiles and reaches out her free hand to tickle her, but Kristin grabs hold of it and joins it with the others, all four sets of fingers intertwined in the small space between their knees.

“Can I ask something now?” 

Kristin nods.

“You never cared whether people knew. How come you never… after…” 

Kristin shrugs. “I don't know what I was... what I am. I don't know what I would've said. 'Hey, I'm not totally straight and I had an affair with Idina Menzel, so whatever that makes me, here I am.' I didn't want other women, really. Or men, for that matter. I just wanted you. Coming out with you would've been worth it. Worth the media… worth being called a homewrecker for the rest of my life. Worth the way my parents would never have looked at me the same way. But without you... it just wasn't. I guess I lied. I do care what they think. Some of them, anyway.” 

“The thing is… that’s okay, though. And the way I saw it… it was never anybody’s goddamn business. You know? Like... our whole lives were in the spotlight. But you... us... that was private. It was ours. I didn't want to give that up.”

“Yeah. But I felt guilty. Like it’s my job to be public about it in some way, to show support, so all the kids getting bullied in school know that it’s okay to be who you are instead of just keeping it hidden.”

“Kristi... they all love you. You _do_ show support. Not only do you tell them you love them, but you tell them God loves them too, and for some people, that really means a lot. You’re allowed to keep this private. You don’t owe them anything.”

Kristin watches her with a look Idina only ever saw in bed, late in the dark after the fireworks died down. Suddenly, Kristin reaches for a tissue on the coffee table, dabbing at her eyes. 

“Damn you,” she says softly.

“I -- I’m sorry. For what?”

“For reminding me why I fell in love with you.” 

Idina thinks _I never need reminding_ and reaches out, pulls Kristin to her chest and holds her, rocking her slowly until they both fall flat onto the sofa. Their bodies find their way as easily as they ever did, tangling enough to keep them from falling off, and at just the right angle for Kristin’s head to fit neatly against Idina’s neck. Just like they learned to do for naps in between shows, in a land far away. One of the very first firsts. 

“Crazy, isn't it?” 

“What?” 

“How fucking lucky we are. We're not starving. We're not in jail. We don't live in... I dunno, North Korea. We've got families who love us. We've won awards doing what we love. We're goddamn millionaires, Kris. We get to sing and perform and make people happy. We get to know each other. I get to be here with you and touch you and talk to you. And we're lying here crying because want _more_.”

“That's what I fell in love with.” 

“What?”

“Your gratitude,” Kristin whispers into her skin, as though trying to implant the words so Idina never forgets. “Your humility. How incredibly real you are. You're so grounded, and you kept me grounded. I lost that, when I left. And I've been trying to get it back ever since. I work, I pray, I try to remember, I try to forget. I'm not even sure where it's left me.”

“You're okay. You'll be okay. You'll figure it out.” 

“Where will you be?” 

“I’'ll be here. I'll always be here.”

Kristin squeezes a handful of Idina’s shirt. “I love you.” 

“I love you more.”

She listens to the clock, the old ticking into the new. She relaxes into the rhythm of Kristin’s heartbeat, or her own -- too close to tell. They always tended to sync up after a few moments. She wonders if they would, still.

“Kris?” 

“Hm.” 

“If we're both single in two weeks, d'you wanna marry me?”

She can feel Kristin smile against her skin, slowly lifting her head. She’s so close now that Idina can see where the blue and green meet in her eyes, each shade more beautiful in union than alone. Kristin shifts, rising up another inch until her lips meet the corner of Idina’s mouth. 

“Wait,” Idina whispers.

Kristin pulls back. “Okay.”

“This feels like -- is this -- are we saying goodbye? Is that what this is?” 

Kristin smiles. “You really think you’ll ever be rid of me?” 

“Then... what is this?” 

“I think…” She searches Idina’s face, like the answer’s scrawled across it. “I think... this is hello.” 

Firsts. Or rather, seconds. 

They don’t have to try. Their lips find each other on their own, bringing them home. There’s no urgency, no pressure -- just the soft press of skin that’s met a thousand times before. 

“I --” Idina searches desperately for the words. “I don’t think we should do this.” 

Kristin smiles against her lips. “I don’t either.” 

Idina pulls back, sharing her smile. “Okay.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Wow. That was easier than I thought.” 

“Really?” 

“...No,” Idina whimpers. “It’s really hard and I wanna go down on you for hours.” 

“Oh… oh, god, stop saying _words_.” 

“Okay! Okay. Sorry.” 

Kristin shifts closer. “Sleep with me. Okay?” 

“Like this?”

“No.”

Kristin eases them off the couch, taking Idina by the hand and leading her to the bedroom. They peel off their pants and crawl in, facing each other under the covers. Kristin hooks an ankle over Idina’s calf and their hands meet in the middle, curling into each other’s fists. Maddie trots into the room after them, hopping onto the foot of the bed and settling herself against their feet. Idina smiles. 

“Like this,” Kristin says.

 

-

 

Kristin pulls into the Westin’s parking garage, driving around until she finds an empty corner. 

Idina picks her purse off the floor of the car. The drive felt shorter than it did last night. 

“Previews start in like two days, right?” Kristin asks. 

“Something like that... I figure they’ll drag me out of bed when it’s time to go on.”  
  
Kristin smiles. “Break a leg.” 

“As long as it’s not a rib.” 

"And give Anthony a kiss for me." 

"I will. But no tongue." 

“I’ll come see you.”  
  
“Damn right you will.” 

They lean in for it in unison, the slightest brush. And if it lingers for a moment, the world won’t end. 

It’s not the first time they’ve kissed goodbye. It’s just the first time it doesn’t feel like goodbye.

  


**_fin_ **

 


End file.
